It's been a crappy start.
Think positive!
More money! (More problems too, but still, more money!)
More hours working too, but hey, it's not like I'm having to sacrifice time with a significant other!
More money!
Just 2.75 years to go.
More money!
This year I will get back in shape.
I will Botox, smartlipo, radiofrequency, vaser, whatever it takes.
I will stir shit at work if I have to.
I will keep mechanical microdermabrading.
I will sunblock. Sunblock. And more sunblock.
I will virtuously ignore the fact that I won't have a life.
I probably won't get to travel unless it's work-related.
I will run. Run. Run. (With sunblock on.)
I will find a cream and blue dress for T's wedding.
Before it takes place.
I won't buy a car.
I won't make rash decisions about entering the property market.
I will be more judicious in my spending.
I will be more judicious in everything.
I will stop taking it out on Fat Boy. (Even though it's partly his fault.)
I will drink no more than two units of alcohol at a go, no more than twice a week.
I will never be drunk or hungover again.
I will dust off my Japanese books and re-acquaint myself with the language.
I will stir so much shit, you wouldn't believe it.
I will go back to writing that bloody speech.
...
I may even re-organise my wardrobe.
...
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Monday, August 10, 2009
Shit-stirrer.
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!
...
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!
...
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.
...
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
:-(
Sick of international meetings. Need to watch personal manner more. Or do I? Been working well for me, so far. Have been told that I need to stop saying "I don't have long-term career ambitions here anyway". I wonder why. Ha. Pirates schmirates. Russian women really dig Indian men. Canadians really do pronounce the word "about" like "a-BOOT". Hee hee. Apparently I am the point person for the French language. One-eyed leading the blind. I have three months to brush up. Great. Can you spell I C-A-N-'T B-E B-O-T-H-E-R-E-D? Still haven't figured out if the seemingly gay chef was checking me out. Maybe he too sees the gay man trapped inside me. Or maybe he was just horrified at my skin. MY SKIN. I should stop boozing for so many reasons. Is it just that I'm getting old that the men I'm attracted tend to be married? Or is it just that the stable-family-life-seeking sort of guy tends to work in the government sector? PROBLEM: NEW JOB MEANS ZERO INTERACTION WITH THE PRIVATE SECTOR. It's just as well hey seeing how I have to re-acquaint myself with a language that I was not so hot at to begin with. Plus one more, if the new proposal goes through. Apparently there's no point to Japanese since it's not an official UN language. What a waste. Where was I? Oh yes. I AM BORED. I haven't eaten dinner in the past week simply because I AM BORED OF FOOD. Fortunately lunch has been catered so I could be on autopilot for at least one meal a day and not think about what I actually wanted. Not that it has made any difference to my waistline. If I wasn't so damn bored of it all I might feel a sense of panic brought on by the thought of getting OLD. OLD OLD OLD. I've been having weird dreams. Very different settings but the same plot: I end up having to live in the same house as an ex-boyfriend and his new girlfriend; who is short, kinda-plump, not particularly attractive, but apparently very nice. And I'm totally OK with it, even a little perplexed at my lack of jealousy, totally cognisant of the stark reality that is I-was-dumped-because-I-wasn't-a-nice-enough-person, and weirdly supportive of the set up/ glad that so-and-so have found each other. They are such anti-climactic dreams, I wonder why I even remember them. Have I become politically-correct even in my subconscious? That is fucking scary. My right eyebrow itches and I've found the perfect red lipstick. It's from M.A.C.. London guy insinuated that he's not likely to want to stay there longer than two years and that he only accepted the position because he felt he had no choice. So maybe I get a go in 2012. But will I want it by then? I've been spending too much and maybe re-learning French will help me stop. I'm even bored of painting. All execution, no completion. Story of my life.
...
...
Thursday, July 16, 2009
On speaking and writing.
A good read. And, no, I am not suggesting that it is deliberately targeted at the frequent visitor to this blog, who has a firmer grasp of the English language than most.
There are some typographical errors in the speech that I would forgive, as I doubt that it is an official transcript. It's an excellent speech otherwise; I really must hand it to the old man.
...
There are some typographical errors in the speech that I would forgive, as I doubt that it is an official transcript. It's an excellent speech otherwise; I really must hand it to the old man.
...
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.
...
Monday, July 06, 2009
Bob
is really the sweetest most amazing-est cat in The Entire World. He's also the most vocal cat I've ever met and surprisingly brainy for the owner of such a tiny (but cute!) head.
And he smells of poo.
...
And he smells of poo.
...
Sunday, July 05, 2009
No signs
of swine flu yet. I might however catch whatever it is that my little brother is down with.
Tried on the Reiss suit I got from Heathrow duty free at half-price. Still lovin' it! Wish I had more time for shopping in London.
My ears are still recovering from those meetings. I really should bring earphones the next time round. The headphones provided don't have those nice cushiony things, for hygiene (and cost) reasons. I actually have a bruise on my right ear.
Translators get paid a lot of money.
I wonder if the Lipsy black zip-up dress I bought at half price is suitable for the office. Or Singapore. It needs to be worn with a pair of kick-ass black knee-high boots.
I need to buy boots.
I hate summer collections.
I have eight bars of soap and three bottles of shower gel. I have in total 2.25 litres of shampoo (and, surprisingly enough, only 0.5 litres of conditioner). I have two tubes of leave-in conditioner and two tubes that promise to make my waves wavier than before. I have two unfinished bottles and one newly-opened tube of face cleanser, and three bottles of toner. And two bars of soap for cleansing the face. I have one large pump bottle of body moisturiser and two tubs of body cream. I have countless bottles of perfume and a fridge full of hydrating / balancing / brightening / rejuvenating / anti-aging products many of which are used only once a month. And I have a drawer full of make-up.
I have a tube of silicon gel that I'm supposed to use religiously on my foob scars. Guess when I last used it (actually, don't).
I need to buy more tops. And dresses. From the fall collection.
I also need mascara. What I have isn't finished but it's gone all dry and clumpy. I would also like to try out falsies at some point.
Eyelid tape has sorted out the fold of my left eyelid. I look somewhat more symmetrical now.
I AM SO BORED. Self-quarantine sucks ass. Cancelled my painting session and hair appointment today, boo... We've been asked to work from home over the next two days but I think I'll go in on Tuesday if I'm still feeling fine. I have mixed thoughts about Kazuo Ishiguro.
I think the Bobster has gotten used to his mummy going away all the time, as long as she devotes all her attention to him for the 24 hours from when she returns. Aw sweet little Bobbly-boo. Have your claws always been this long?
Bored bored bored bored bored. I accepted a "friend" request from my former chief executive (after some spring-cleaning and privacy re-setting of my profile). BORED.
Tick tock tick tock.
...
Tried on the Reiss suit I got from Heathrow duty free at half-price. Still lovin' it! Wish I had more time for shopping in London.
My ears are still recovering from those meetings. I really should bring earphones the next time round. The headphones provided don't have those nice cushiony things, for hygiene (and cost) reasons. I actually have a bruise on my right ear.
Translators get paid a lot of money.
I wonder if the Lipsy black zip-up dress I bought at half price is suitable for the office. Or Singapore. It needs to be worn with a pair of kick-ass black knee-high boots.
I need to buy boots.
I hate summer collections.
I have eight bars of soap and three bottles of shower gel. I have in total 2.25 litres of shampoo (and, surprisingly enough, only 0.5 litres of conditioner). I have two tubes of leave-in conditioner and two tubes that promise to make my waves wavier than before. I have two unfinished bottles and one newly-opened tube of face cleanser, and three bottles of toner. And two bars of soap for cleansing the face. I have one large pump bottle of body moisturiser and two tubs of body cream. I have countless bottles of perfume and a fridge full of hydrating / balancing / brightening / rejuvenating / anti-aging products many of which are used only once a month. And I have a drawer full of make-up.
I have a tube of silicon gel that I'm supposed to use religiously on my foob scars. Guess when I last used it (actually, don't).
I need to buy more tops. And dresses. From the fall collection.
I also need mascara. What I have isn't finished but it's gone all dry and clumpy. I would also like to try out falsies at some point.
Eyelid tape has sorted out the fold of my left eyelid. I look somewhat more symmetrical now.
I AM SO BORED. Self-quarantine sucks ass. Cancelled my painting session and hair appointment today, boo... We've been asked to work from home over the next two days but I think I'll go in on Tuesday if I'm still feeling fine. I have mixed thoughts about Kazuo Ishiguro.
I think the Bobster has gotten used to his mummy going away all the time, as long as she devotes all her attention to him for the 24 hours from when she returns. Aw sweet little Bobbly-boo. Have your claws always been this long?
Bored bored bored bored bored. I accepted a "friend" request from my former chief executive (after some spring-cleaning and privacy re-setting of my profile). BORED.
Tick tock tick tock.
...
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.
...
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
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!
...
Wednesday, May 06, 2009
I miss diving.
I think it's high time to visit the Great Barrier Reef and the Torres Strait.
So many fantastic deals everywhere and no time to travel!
I wish I hadn't eaten so much for lunch today.
(I am resisting the urge to complain about my colleagues. Less than two months to go...)
I could go up to Bangkok for one night just to call on a friend and, well, get out of the country.
Bangkok is so underwhelming.
The Spaniard looked... lopsided... this morning. And Germanman needs serious eyegel, stat.
So I didn't need to feel self-conscious about my ridiculous sunglass tanline.
I wish I hadn't eaten so much for lunch yesterday.
I haven't been to the gym since the end of February. I should start again this weekend.
Kiehl's hair care range is the Best.
WHY DOESN'T THE LAWYER REPLY TO MY VERY SIMPLE E-MAIL???
I hope he isn't preparing a super long-winded and completely irrelevant reply.
Ok, chances are, he will.
I wish they would sack him already.
tick tock tick tock tick tock
Mmmm... chocolate pound cake with hazelnut ice cream and milo all over the top...
I'm usually a brand whore when it comes to toiletries, but Ginvera Marvel Gel is really good.
And I also used a pore strip for the first time since I was a teenager, last night.
Wasn't pretty.
I wonder when my face will look normal again.
I'm glad that photo of me in the Jakarta Post isn't absolutely hideous.
I need a man who dives. Or is willing to learn to dive. For me.
STOP TAPPING ON THE DOOR. THEY CAN'T HEAR YOU.
JUST KNOCK ALREADY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
AND CLOSE THE DAMN DOOR BEHIND YOU OR THE FUCKING ALARM GOES OFF!!!!!!!!!!
Who are these people??? Spies??? They sure as hell ain't local.
And why does he keep wearing a suit and earphones???
Messages from God??? Or aliens???
tick tock tick tock tick tock
Do I call? No. Because he'll just feed me the wrong information. Again.
Nope, that wasn't him. That was an FT markets update that I unsubscribed months ago.
Things are so slooooowwwwwwww... I should be enjoying it, really.
I could, theoretically, spend my time doing up notes of this morning's meeting instead of procrastinating.
But my horoscope for today reads "Lazy Streak" and who am I to argue with the planetary and inter-stellar systems?
(Still resisting urge to complain about colleagues.)
Sometimes I wonder if there is a giant dentist's suction pump in this office.
(Never mind.)
Fine. I'll do up the damn notes of meeting.
...
So many fantastic deals everywhere and no time to travel!
I wish I hadn't eaten so much for lunch today.
(I am resisting the urge to complain about my colleagues. Less than two months to go...)
I could go up to Bangkok for one night just to call on a friend and, well, get out of the country.
Bangkok is so underwhelming.
The Spaniard looked... lopsided... this morning. And Germanman needs serious eyegel, stat.
So I didn't need to feel self-conscious about my ridiculous sunglass tanline.
I wish I hadn't eaten so much for lunch yesterday.
I haven't been to the gym since the end of February. I should start again this weekend.
Kiehl's hair care range is the Best.
WHY DOESN'T THE LAWYER REPLY TO MY VERY SIMPLE E-MAIL???
I hope he isn't preparing a super long-winded and completely irrelevant reply.
Ok, chances are, he will.
I wish they would sack him already.
tick tock tick tock tick tock
Mmmm... chocolate pound cake with hazelnut ice cream and milo all over the top...
I'm usually a brand whore when it comes to toiletries, but Ginvera Marvel Gel is really good.
And I also used a pore strip for the first time since I was a teenager, last night.
Wasn't pretty.
I wonder when my face will look normal again.
I'm glad that photo of me in the Jakarta Post isn't absolutely hideous.
I need a man who dives. Or is willing to learn to dive. For me.
STOP TAPPING ON THE DOOR. THEY CAN'T HEAR YOU.
JUST KNOCK ALREADY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
AND CLOSE THE DAMN DOOR BEHIND YOU OR THE FUCKING ALARM GOES OFF!!!!!!!!!!
Who are these people??? Spies??? They sure as hell ain't local.
And why does he keep wearing a suit and earphones???
Messages from God??? Or aliens???
tick tock tick tock tick tock
Do I call? No. Because he'll just feed me the wrong information. Again.
Nope, that wasn't him. That was an FT markets update that I unsubscribed months ago.
Things are so slooooowwwwwwww... I should be enjoying it, really.
I could, theoretically, spend my time doing up notes of this morning's meeting instead of procrastinating.
But my horoscope for today reads "Lazy Streak" and who am I to argue with the planetary and inter-stellar systems?
(Still resisting urge to complain about colleagues.)
Sometimes I wonder if there is a giant dentist's suction pump in this office.
(Never mind.)
Fine. I'll do up the damn notes of meeting.
...
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Friday, March 27, 2009
(TMI)
I've taken my first NORMAL and FULL-STRENGTH and STRAIN-FREE dump in over two months!!!
This has significantly improved my mood :-)
...
This has significantly improved my mood :-)
...
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Group 18 (formerly 0).
(WARNING: The following post in the form of a self-obsessed rant may have been designed to fish for sympathy and compliments, and hence may be unsuitable for digestion.)
========
I am officially undateable. Men may find me attractive, intelligent, witty or fun, and some may, usually with the aid of alcohol or animal spirits, and always with my deliberate encouragement, ask me out for dinner or to their place for, erm, dessert. But it often stops there (unless, as history has shown, he turns out to be a needy asshole). Granted, when it does, it's almost always a mutual decision.
Then there are those who may find me attractive, intelligent, witty or fun (unless I am completely off the mark in understanding their response to me), who appear to rather STAB THEMSELVES IN THE EYES than to even contemplate asking me out on a date. These men fall into two broad categories: those who nurse their crushes which eventually turn to hate when they realise that I will never respond in kind, and those who just move on. Typically, those men whom I may be attracted to myself, fall into the latter category.
I'm not even talking about men whose lives are complicated by existing girlfriends or wives, or geography.
The next time a taxi driver, or gym instructor, or colleague, or Director, or the Chief Executive (responsible for most such comments) makes a gratuitous reference to my non-existent boyfriend, I'm going to demand to know who he is because I sure as hell don't know. I will no longer play along in order to avoid the inevitable question of why I don't have a boyfriend. In fact, and especially if the presumptious interlocutor is a reasonable specimen of heterosexual male, I shall DEMAND TO KNOW exactly WHY I don't have a boyfriend.
I mean, I deserve to know don't I? It is only fair to me that The Universe reveals the reason(s) why I'm likely to die alone. DON'T I DESERVE THE SECOND CHANCE TO CHANGE??? Perfect information is necessary if You (and by You I mean the omniscient, omnipotent being in whose hands the fates of all lie) want us, want ME, to make the most of my time while I still have it.
And while You're considering that last bit, I would also be tremendously grateful if You could let me in on where I can get gorgeous heels that won't ruin me physically or financially.
Thank You.
...
========
I am officially undateable. Men may find me attractive, intelligent, witty or fun, and some may, usually with the aid of alcohol or animal spirits, and always with my deliberate encouragement, ask me out for dinner or to their place for, erm, dessert. But it often stops there (unless, as history has shown, he turns out to be a needy asshole). Granted, when it does, it's almost always a mutual decision.
Then there are those who may find me attractive, intelligent, witty or fun (unless I am completely off the mark in understanding their response to me), who appear to rather STAB THEMSELVES IN THE EYES than to even contemplate asking me out on a date. These men fall into two broad categories: those who nurse their crushes which eventually turn to hate when they realise that I will never respond in kind, and those who just move on. Typically, those men whom I may be attracted to myself, fall into the latter category.
I'm not even talking about men whose lives are complicated by existing girlfriends or wives, or geography.
The next time a taxi driver, or gym instructor, or colleague, or Director, or the Chief Executive (responsible for most such comments) makes a gratuitous reference to my non-existent boyfriend, I'm going to demand to know who he is because I sure as hell don't know. I will no longer play along in order to avoid the inevitable question of why I don't have a boyfriend. In fact, and especially if the presumptious interlocutor is a reasonable specimen of heterosexual male, I shall DEMAND TO KNOW exactly WHY I don't have a boyfriend.
I mean, I deserve to know don't I? It is only fair to me that The Universe reveals the reason(s) why I'm likely to die alone. DON'T I DESERVE THE SECOND CHANCE TO CHANGE??? Perfect information is necessary if You (and by You I mean the omniscient, omnipotent being in whose hands the fates of all lie) want us, want ME, to make the most of my time while I still have it.
And while You're considering that last bit, I would also be tremendously grateful if You could let me in on where I can get gorgeous heels that won't ruin me physically or financially.
Thank You.
...
Monday, March 16, 2009
(there is no sound for how i feel right now)
trying to shop over the weekend was a nightmare, it's like nobody's even heard of the recession, people people everywhere and so the air did stink, i made up for it today by blowing over $600 over half an hour during lunch
i wonder if i stink, no i'm sure i don't, i smell of raspberry lychee amber patchouli and something called benzoin
this speech is the WORST ever, i've never seen as many extreme platitudes strung together over four pages of print (times new roman font size 12 single line spacing) as i have today, all the nautical allegory is making me seasick, i won't be editing it as much as i will be re-writing it, WHY ME
oh my god if they make me head maritime security i will die of irrelevance
at least i can paint, and i will have lots of time on my hands, but it won't prepare me for london, though i'm not sure if i want to go there anymore, i can't leave the cat behind
i have lots and lots of make-up and pretty dresses that need to be used used used, so fortunately for me the semi-hot semi-dorky tall strapping Spaniard and his ridiculously polite perma-tanned German doctor friend, i look forward to friday, hooray!
i wonder what's been happening on facebook
labour day weekend hooray! it's all booked in case you're wondering and you may wish to look up tanjung pinang and trikora beach la la la la la
...
i wonder if i stink, no i'm sure i don't, i smell of raspberry lychee amber patchouli and something called benzoin
this speech is the WORST ever, i've never seen as many extreme platitudes strung together over four pages of print (times new roman font size 12 single line spacing) as i have today, all the nautical allegory is making me seasick, i won't be editing it as much as i will be re-writing it, WHY ME
oh my god if they make me head maritime security i will die of irrelevance
at least i can paint, and i will have lots of time on my hands, but it won't prepare me for london, though i'm not sure if i want to go there anymore, i can't leave the cat behind
i have lots and lots of make-up and pretty dresses that need to be used used used, so fortunately for me the semi-hot semi-dorky tall strapping Spaniard and his ridiculously polite perma-tanned German doctor friend, i look forward to friday, hooray!
i wonder what's been happening on facebook
labour day weekend hooray! it's all booked in case you're wondering and you may wish to look up tanjung pinang and trikora beach la la la la la
...
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