Archive for These people are killing me

I See Dead People

{ March 24, 2009 @ 4:09 am } · { Facebook, These people are killing me }
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Ah….the Facebooks.

So a friend of a friend on Facebook (neither of whom are a friend in real life, of course) posted pictures from her Grandpa’s funeral. 

Fine.

Started out with picture of her family getting ready for the funeral, all smiles.  Thought that was a little weird, but not clearly inappropriate.   But where are the sad people?

Anyway, about midway through (and seriously, why am I looking at this album, I don’t even know the girl!), a picture of the dead guy in his coffin.  Rest his soul. 

Really?  Really, people???  Everytime I think folks have reached the heighth of wrongness on facebook, they surprise me and take it to a whole new level.

I just don’t think that  is how Grandpa Jimmy* envisioned himself being remembered…

*names have been altered to protect the deceased

Merry Christmas

{ December 1, 2008 @ 10:37 pm } · { These people are killing me }
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So yesterday B and I went and cut down a Christmas tree for his condo. 

When we got back, he couldn’t get it to stand up straight, so he decided to put a few magazines under the base to even it out. 

He went into his closet where he stashes his old Playboys.  Pulled out about 4 of them, WRAPPED THEM IN PLASTIC BAGS, and them placed them under the tree.

Sure wouldn ‘t want those magazines to get ruined.

Yeah.  Priorities.  Hope his niece and nephew don’t go snooping under the tree to see what Santa left them….

More reasons to hate Facebook

{ October 29, 2008 @ 2:23 am } · { Facebook, These people are killing me }
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I rarely ever look at the “profile” page on Facebook.  I always log in, take a look at the home page, see what all of my friends are up to and then log off.  Today I went to my actual profile page and you know what I saw?

Line after line of my comments on my friends’ walls or to their pictures.  That’s basically it.  Nobody cares about me because I don’t have kids.  If I had children, they’d make comments every time I post pictures, telling me how cute my kids are.  But I don’t, and they don’t. 

I’m cute too, people!  Sort of, anyway.  And if I’m not, then PRETEND like I am.  That’s what “friends” are for.

________________________________________________________________________________

A guy from my high school sent me a friends request a while ago.  I don’t remember him at all, but I accepted it, as I generally do to all requests.  Just to be polite, I guess. 

Anyway, this guy IMed me about three times.  I always ignored it, because apparently my politeness extends only so far.  I really have nothing to say to this guy, and have no desire to waste time small talking.  But then he IMed me again the other day, and I just sighed to myself and thought “ok, fine.  I don’t want to ignore him again, I’ll just chat with him for a few minutes and then beg off.”  Fine.

So the first thing he says to me is “so you’re a lawyer now, right?”  Uh-huh.  Already I can see a legal question coming my way.  He then proceeds to tell me about his issues at work, which, by the way, are barely issues.  Blah blah blah, I don’t like my current assignment, blah blah blah, management won’t switch me to a new assignement, blah blah blah, I signed a non-compete agreement and I want to go work for one of their local competitors.  Do you think this is the problem?

How the hell should I know?  I don’t even practice in the state that he lives in.  Nor do I handle those kinds of issues.  So I very politely try to tell him, listen, I’m not familiar with the laws in that state, and I don’t work in that area of the law.  But he keeps pushing.  He says he’s not sure if I have a boyfriend or not (read my profile, genius), but he wonders if I could call him to talk about his problem. 

Um, no?  First of all, my boyfriend has nothing to do with me dispensing legal advice.  Secondly, again dude, I’m not comfortable advising you on this issue. 

Then he says, well, no offense, butI know that most attorneys don’t want to give advice unless they are getting compensated.  Well, yeah.  It is a FOR PROFIT business.  And furthermore, who the hell likes to work for free??  It isn’t just attorneys, asshat, it’s everybody.  I’m fairly certain he doesn’t work for free. 

So I tell him, dude, this has nothing to do with compensation.  I can’t just give advice off the cuff to random people because those people?  Will rely on what I say, and then if things go wrong, guess who they want to blame??  Some poor lawyer chick they cornered on Facebook and begged for advice.  And not every question has an easy yes or no answer.  In fact, most of them don’t.  Hence cases being litigated for years and ending in someone, a judge or a jury having to make a decision one way or another. 

That guy pissed me off.  I told him I was signing off, and he said, ok, I’ll talk to you soon.  Um…no.  Unless soon = never, we won’t be talking any time soon.

Some things I need to get off my chest

{ October 10, 2008 @ 3:41 am } · { These people are killing me, do your job, etiquette, gym }
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Landlord Bob -

Nothing you need to discuss with me is important enough to come to my door during the last five minutes of Grey’s Anatomy. 

. . .

Workers at the Gym -

Please do a better job of hiding your Dunkin’ Donuts.  Thanks.

. . .

Dudes at the Gym:

Please do not come to the gym with bare feet anymore.  It makes me feel like tossing my cookies, and I already am not enjoying myself at the gym.

. . .

Cottenelle Aloe & E Toilet Paper-

Although I love how you feel against my naughty bits – so unbelievably soft.  What I don’t love is what you leave behind.  I would rather use a rougher paper than have to pick pieces of toilet paper out of my crotch.  Unfortunately, I’m stuck using up the 24 roll pack that I bought. 

. . .

Direct Auto Insurance Company -

No.  No I will not accept your offer of 50% of the estimate for the repairs to my car.  I know it can be confusing, but no,  I was not 50% at fault for being rear-ended by your insured (who, by the way, is a HE, not a SHE as you stated) while I was at a complete stop at the stoplight.  And why yes, I would like to speak to the president of the company.

Yes, Mr. President, I am well aware of a concept called  “mitigating circumstances”, but thanks so much for explaining it to me so patiently.  Unfortunately, there were not mitigating circumstances, and this is not a negotiation.  I will take 100% and not a penny less.

Thank you for providing me with a release of claim.  I’m going to need you to strike the part that says “this is a settlement of a doubtful claim”.  Also?  No, I will not take you at your word that you will reimburse me for the rental car, even though your release says nothing of the sort.  Stop insulting my intelligence and just pay the fucking claim already, k?

Oh, and no, the letter you got from the law firm?  Thanks for asking, but no, that is not my attorney.  That is ME.  I am the attorney. 

. . .

Thank God tomorrow is Friday.

It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood….

{ September 3, 2008 @ 5:27 am } · { These people are killing me, neighbors }
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So there is this guy that lives in my apartment complex, Bob.  Pervert Bob.  I avoid him like the plague, which can be tricky because he is ALWAYS sitting out in the courtyard.  And I have to use the courtyard to get to my garage and to the garbage.  I will literally wait until midnight every night to park my car so as to lessen my chances of running into him, and I have been known to let my garbage sit way too long before taking it out to the dumpster for the very same reason. 

Pervert Bob is a drunk.  His eyes are usually glassy, his breath always reeks of alcohol, and he has this huge disgusting red bulbous nose.  I can barely look right at him, usually choosing instead to stare at the ground or off into the distance. 

Bob is also very outgoing.  He talks to everyone who walks by, and anyone who will listen.  I walk right by whenever I can, but he usually calls me over to talk to him.  Past conversations have included him telling me that he was staring at my breasts and wanting to know if I want to come over to play sometime (and no, he isn’t talking about tennis). 

He remembers a little of what we talk about, from time to time.  Most of it he forgets (see above re:  alcohol).  Most of the time (but not always) he remembers my name, and he always remembers that I am an attorney, a fact he loves to share with whomever he happens to be sitting with at the time.  He’s asked me detailed questions about my love/sex life, and he isn’t afraid to ask my income. 

Tonight I went to park my car, late as usual.  Unfortunately, he was still sitting in the courtyard, drinking beer with an old buddy.  He called me over, and I tried to beg off, telling him that it was past my bedtime.  “Oh, come on, you can give me a minute.”  Fine, I said, but just the one.

So he wanted to know how my weekend was – he remembered that I told him a few days ago that I was going with my boyfriend to visit his mother.  Mind you, when we talk, I only answer the questions that he asks (the appropriate ones anyway) – I don’t initiate conversation.  Anyway, he wanted to know how that went.  Then he wanted to know more about my boyfriend.  How long have you been dating?  Is it serious?  Do you love him, are you guys in love?  Where is it going?  Is he afraid of committment, are you going to give him an ultimatum?  So on and so forth.  After about the third question, I said, Bob, you are embarrassing me.  I don’t like to talk to random people about love (except you, dear internets).  It makes me uncomfortable and makes me feel like I’m in the 6th grade again.  And why do people always assume that it’s the man holding up a relationship (not that I feel like my relationship is being held up, but Bob didn’t understand that)? 

Ok, I guess it makes sense.  But why assume that I’m sitting around, crying everyday about my lack of a diamond ring (although let’s be honest, we all like diamonds), wishing, hoping, waiting, praying this day will be THE day?  I tried to tell Pervert Bob not to worry, that I’m perfectly happy with the pace at which the relationship is progressing, and that I am a cautious person by nature, so not at all the type to rush into anything. 

And then I thought to myself, why the hell am I even trying to explain it to this dude?  For one, I’m only having this conversation with him out of politeness, and two, he isn’t even going to remember this conversation tomorrow (if, God forbid, I run into him again).  So I quickly said good night to Bob and his friend (who had started getting in on the questioning) and walked away with Bob still talking. 

Why can’t I have cool neighbors?  Bob is essentially harmless, but it really is a pain in my ass to have to work so hard to avoid him (and only partially successfully).  This is one reason that I look forward to winter – because it is too cold for Pervert Bob to hang out in the courtyard and I can come and go as I please. 

Well, I really am tired now.  Maybe some other time I’ll tell you about Landlord Bob (equally as weird), Eleanor (drinks Manhattans and falls down in the courtyard), and her shut-in roommate (don’t know her name).  And those are all the friends I’ve made in this neighborhood. 

Yep, it’s time to move.

Cause I love the way you call me baby….

{ July 15, 2008 @ 9:40 pm } · { These people are killing me, random thoughts }
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Except you, lunch waiter dude. 

No.  No I don’t love the way you called me “baby”.

Long Day

{ February 29, 2008 @ 4:10 am } · { These people are killing me, aging, birthday, life, mean people, online dating, random thoughts, relationships, what am I doing with my life?, work }
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9:30 a.m.

I took a little break at work and I checked my personals inbox.  Of course I no longer do online dating, but for whatever reason (read:  laziness), I haven’t taken down my profile.  I still check my inbox every now and then, mostly for amusement purposes.  Today I got a message that reads as follows:

[I'm omitting the part that has his name and email address.  But apparently his last name is "thick"]

PS .. thick like ALAN Thicke the Actor … I know what you were thinking … and I am not a all fery, Athletic and Built.  text me for fastest reaction time

555-123-4567 … text me if you want to discuss me over dinner …

Huh?  What the hell is he talking about?  And what is “fery”?  Usually when people have bad grammar and/or spelling, I can still figure out what they are trying to say, but not this time.

Oh, and dude?  1985 called and wants its pop culture references back.  Has this guy not watched any tv in 20 years or what?  I emailed him back and said, “Dude, no thanks.   You are no Kirk Cameron.”

1:45 p.m.

I had a loud and angry argument with my boss.  He asks for my opinion, but he really only wants it if I agree with him.  He thinks I’m trying to be contrary and narrow-minded when actually I’m just telling him what the law is.  As since I’m the one reading all the cases, I should know.  I told him (as I have before) that if doesn’t want my opinion, then he shouldn’t ask for it.  The argument when on and he got mad and told me not to talk to him that way, blah blah blah. 

I ended up in tears.  Which I hate.  I can’t help it – I always go to the tears when I am frustrated.  And I know, there is no crying in the law, but you know how it is….the tears just come and can be hard to stop.

4:30

I get back to work after a trip to court.  My boss called me into his office where he was sitting with one of his clients, who for the sake of this story we will call Tom.   Tom is in our office a lot, so I know him pretty well.  I am not involved in his case(s).  My boss wanted to run a letter that he was drafting by me.  So he told me about it and asked me to look through a photo album that was sitting on his desk.  I opened it up, and it was filthy pictures Tom and and his ex-girlfriend naked and engaged in various sexual acts.  Mind you, Tom was SITTING RIGHT THERE when I opened this album.  I closed it immediately and said, “I don’t want to look at this”.    

What was my boss thinking??  Why the hell would he ask me to look at that with Tom sitting there?  I was so embarrassed.  I could maybe understand having to look at such pictures if it had a bearing on a case with which I was involved.  I am not at all involved in that case.  My boss just has no sense of boundaries.  But I was disgusted.  I almost cried again when I went back to my office, because I felt disrespected again.

6:30 p.m.

B called me when we were both on our way home from work.  Although he didn’t ask, I told him that I had a horrible day at work, and told him about it.  To which he responded with the ever popular “don’t complain if you aren’t willing to do something about it.”  Of course I know that makes sense.  But it absolutely is not what I wanted to hear.  If that is what I wanted to hear, I would have called my mother.  In fact, I told him he should call my mother and the two of them could bitch about how stupid I am, that way they can get it out of their system.  Jump right into my nightmare, B.

7:15

I got home to find a lovely letter from my health insurance company informing me that since I am so old and have entered an entirely new age range, my premuim will be increased. 

Great. 

Kick me while I’m down, Blue Cross Blue Shield.  As if I didn’t feel bad enough about the 30.   Now I am apparently a much bigger health risk.  Perfect.

8:00 p.m.

Lost.   Sigh.  WTF…..mind time travel??  I’m am very very close to my pain threshhold with this show.  Maybe I’m not evolved enough or imaginative enough or whatever, but the thing is, I watch tv for entertainment.  I like to be spoon-fed with it.  I don’t like to have to try so hard to understand something.  I literally have to read a recap of it every Friday so that I can try to make sense of what I watched.  Cut me a break here, Lost writers.  Please start writing stuff that makes sense.  And if nothing else, give me some more Kate and Sawyer.

Good night, folks.  And thank God tomorrow is Friday. 

Patience is a virtue…

{ December 13, 2007 @ 3:24 am } · { These people are killing me, what am I doing with my life?, work }
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Is it really patience if you have to fake it?

My boss makes me crazy.  He takes advantage of my niceness pretty much every single day.  It has been going on for years, and right now I feel like I am at my limit with him and his family.

It is hard to explain without getting really in depth, but I will try to do an adequate job here.  I don’t really like talking about my job, because one never really knows who is reading.  That being said, it is really bothering me so I will now.

This year my boss lost his son.  It has been a horrible year for his family (following two long years of his son’s illness), and obviously they are heartbroken.  Because of the hard time they have had, I have done many many many things over the course of the last couple of years that fall far outside the realm of my job responsibilities.   They needed help, and there was a lot of simple things I could do to make it easier, so I did.  But his son is gone now since April, they don’t have to tend to him and care for him anymore, and they are trying to move forward as best they can.  But they got used to me doing a lot of things for them, and so they keep asking.  And I keep doing.  And at this point I feel that it is taking advantage. 

They are sucking all of the good energy out of me.  I am mad at them for expecting me to do so many things, and I am even more mad at myself for doing all of it.  And so I feel crabby on most days, and really, it hurts nobody but me.  They keep taking from me, and, in all honesty, have given very little in return.    I am not adequately paid for my real job, let alone for all the extra stuff I do.  They don’t really even acknowledge every thing that I have done and continue to do for them.  There are some days (like today) that it is all I can do not to cry at my desk.  But there is no crying in baseball, and there sure as hell is no crying in law. 

I have had many clients, co-workers, and friends tell me that I must have the patience of a saint to deal with my boss.  But really, I am screaming in my head.  So frustrated.   Is that true patience?  Aren’t there people out there who happily and tirelessly give  of themselves, and who don’t feel the anger and anxiety that I feel?  Sometimes I think that I’m just being selfish.  When is it ok to look out for number one?

And so it is that everyday I wear a mask of faux patience, wishing desperately for some of the real kind. 

Crabby Abbey

{ December 5, 2007 @ 3:47 am } · { These people are killing me, dating, do your job, is it just me?, life, love, neuroses, random thoughts, relationships }
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So you know what makes me homicidal?  The racket that is express shipping.  In theory, a wonderful idea.  I need something right away, I pay an exorbitant fee for the service, and I get my stuff right away.  Fool-proof, right?  It would be, except that the express shipping services (today, namely DHL) only deliver during regular working hours, when regrettably, I am indeed at work.  So I get a notice when I get home telling me that they tried to deliver but I wasn’t home.  Not to worry though, they will try again tomorrow.  After all, I don’t work every day, do I? 

But alas, I am one of the unfortunate 90% of Americans who do work everyday, so again, I will not be here when they come by.  I use to call the toll-free number and go round and round with some poor schmuck of a customer service representative who happened to answer the phone when I called about why it was not possible for them to leave my package at my apartment if I sign the notice they give me.  I feel that as the receiver (and the one who paid for the shipping), I should have this option.  But no. 

So I have long since resigned myself to the fact that I have to pick the packages up (despite the money I paid for it to be delivered TO ME), so today I called as soon as I got home from work to let them know I will pick it up.  But the number that is printed on the notice is useless.  When you call the number, the only option you are given is to enter your zip code, and then your call is rerouted to a number that is NEVER ANSWERED.  I called again and again and again.  HOURS of my life that I’ll never get back.  There are several other steps that I had to go through that I just don’t have the inclination to type out for you loyal readers who are undoubtedly already bored.  The bottom line is I don’t get to pick it up.  Perhaps tomorrow I will be able to pick it up, they will give me a call when it arrives back at the facility.  Apparently my driver today is on some marathon shift.

Anyway, so then I talk to B and he irritated me too.   He uses this voice sometimes when I’m talking to him that sounds like he is talking to a child.  I think he thinks the things I worry about and the things that irritate me are stupid.  Its like he never does anything wrong or irrational.  Tonight I said something about how he thinks I’m stupid.  He didn’t like that.  He just doesn’t understand why I do things a certain way.  Because I’m not perfect like some people.

I can’t handle people thinking I’m stupid.  I’m not the cutest girl, I’m not the thinnest, I don’t have the most money or the best job or the best clothes.  I’m not the wittiest or the most charming or the funniest.   But I am smart, and I don’t need to be treated like a child. 

On the other hand, B’s personality is very very mild, and I’m pretty sure it was my general crabbiness today that made me irritated at him more so than anything he actually said (and the tone). 

And my last bitch of the day has to do with my friend, Jaded Lawyer Girl.  I was chatting with her today, and she asked me what I was going to wear to B’s work holiday party (where I will meet his mother) on Friday night.  I told her I wasn’t sure yet, but I sent her a picture of a cute shirt I had ordered (currently being held hostage by DHL and some rogue driver).  She thought it was cute, but was concerned that it wouldn’t look modest enough on me, given that my chest is much larger than the lovely model in the picture.  Specifically, she said, “you don’t want his mom to think he picked you up off of the street corner.” 

Um, excuse me?  Is that what I normally look like?  No.  It is not as though I don’t know how to dress appropriately.  Yes, my chest does hang out fairly frequently.  Not on purpose.  My boobs are hard to keep in sometimes.  But a little cleavage does not a lady-of-the-night make.    She said, well, but you don’t want B’s mom to have a bad first impression of you.  Oh, really?  I hadn’t even thought of that.  Never even crossed my mind that I might want his mom to like me, not once in what is now almost a year of dating this man.   So then of course I mentioned this to B, and he thought I was stupid for worrying about that.  He said he didn’t think his mom would care either way.  Really?  She wouldn’t care if your girlfriend came dressed as a total tramp to your work holiday party?  Why not? 

Like I said, I’m just crabby today.  I’ll blame it on the weather.  Or the fact that I’m in the inactive week of my birth control pills.  I should just go to bed and start over tomorrow. 

Say it isn’t sew

{ November 14, 2007 @ 3:43 am } · { These people are killing me, do your job, mean people }
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So I had to take a dress to the tailor to get altered.  I walked in and the place REEKED of smoke.   Unfortunately, I need the dress for this weekend, so I didn’t have time to leave and find another place.  So this little guy comes out and I told him that I need my dress altered.  He asked me what I needed, and I told him I needed it to be hemmed and I would like the straps to be taken up (tired of my boobs hanging out, as I’m sure are the people around me).  I decided to leave out the part about how I wanted a new sash on it, as he seemed kind of put out already.  He asked me when I needed it by, and I told him Friday evening.  The look he gave me was so withering that I squeeked out a “saturday morning?”, and he shook his head and made some indecipherable sounds.  “No?” I said, and he just kept shaking his head and then told me to go try it on. 

I did so and he came and pinned it up.  I took it off, got dressed and took my dress back out to him in the front.  He then wrote me up a receipt, and he said, “you need it by this weekend?” and I said, yes, Friday evening or Saturday morning.  He said, “what time do you need to wear it on Saturday?  I am very busy.”  I was thinking that I’d rather not leave it until the VERY last minute, considering that I have to drive a couple hours to get where I’m going.  I told him that I wanted to pick it up no later than 11:00 a.m.  He said, “11:00 is fine?”  And I said yes.  I suspect if I show up at 10:45 on Saturday, he will have just started the alterations.  

Oh, and he is charging me more than the dress actually cost.  And I mean that literally.

Why did I let him make me feel bad?  I’m paying him for his service, and I almost felt like apologizing for bothering him.  I don’t sew (obviously), but I’m pretty sure a simple hem job will take no more than about 20 minutes.  The straps will probably take a little longer, but I can’t imagine that it will be too complicated.  Not to mention that my dress will likely come back smelling of smoke, and heaven knows that by the time I get it back at 11:00 on Saturday, it will be way too late for any kind of cleaning. 

I didn’t like him too much. 

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