“I can’t believe you got me to re-schedule a meeting so you can ogle a hot guy?” my boss, FairyWings, laughed.
Me neither [but I do appreciate her allegiance to the cause.]
“But then I thought to myself,” she continued, “how often is that really going to happen?” [Word. I believe the correct answer is never, ever, ever, EVER.]
The visiting professor might as well be a visiting unicorn. Um…Professor Unicorn.
I mean who the heck cares what he’s gonna pontificate about – something about sociology, OPC – other people’s children, education, blah blah blah whatever. [Yawn. Just wear a thong and bend over, dude. Nothing goes better with my Tuesday morning coffee than a nice tight ass. I’m just sayin’.]
It amazes me how many people at work are so mystified by my propensity to use “words” to ask for stuff. I am just so old-fashioned like that.
Words + Sentences = Communication.
Yes, the Professor Unicorn request was ridiculous and took ginormous balls to initiate [but that’s what balls are for. Right?]
However, I am talking about regular everyday requests that a person should feel perfectly justified requesting.
I remember this one sweet girl at work [who is no longer working here.] She requested a meeting with me. Me?! [Now, y’all know that ain’t right?]
Everybody knows the only three things I really give a shit about at work is: a) my job [and being the best at it so I can justify being um… slightly bitchy], b) my money ’cause that is what work is for, and c) chatting with my very selective group [of 3] friends [because who else will proudly talk about The Voice/X Factor/Sister Wives with me?]
So I am not the right person to ask for advice. No really.
People think because I am blunt I should be good at giving advice [when I am well-aware that my cray cray advice may only be good enough for my cray cray ass…]
Good advice givers are people who can:
a) detach from the situation [and I can only do this sometimes],
b) be objective [and I have a soft spot for my friends, people in pain, children, pets and old people – or anyone I perceive as needing protection or deserving respect, ie, if you uck-fay with anyone in these groups I will devour you. See? That is not objective], and
c) be open and receptive to see all sides of the equation – not just the one I prefer [now, let me re-direct you back to letters “a” and “b.”]
But she was so sweet. And sincere. That girl.
“How do I ask for the new open position without making my friends mad?” she said quietly, even though we were in a conference room with a closed door. [Sigh. I am immediately on “her” side, even though there are no sides.]
Here is the deal.
Friends do not want you to fail. If someone wants you to fail, they are not your friend.
The good thing about being an introvert is I have no issues with dumping someone who doesn’t have my best interests at heart. I don’t care who they are [sorry Mom, but that included your should-be-wearing-a-straightjacket-ass. And I am also not really sorry.]
For this introvert, “one less person” is like getting a new car for free and the taxes are already paid [simply because it is one less person.]
“The only thing that matters is that you make the best choice for you. That is what they [your friends] will do,” I said to the sweet girl.
[Sigh. That coven would put barbecue sauce on your ass and eat you for lunch raw – for an extra nickel in their paycheck. Now, snap out of it! ]
“Really?,” she questioned. She seemed so disappointed in my answer.
But she was not the first.
My friend, Brother Man, who calls himself my “brother from another mother,” asked me a similar question.
And he should know better than to ask me for advice.
“When do you ask for a raise?” He said timidly, and he is anything timid. It was so odd to see his vulnerable side. [Clearly, someone put one of those body-snatcher pods under his desk.]
Like all things concerning money, I have standard operating procedures. To me, money is a tool, and it is anything but personal, unless you try to take it without my consent – then it becomes “personal” [and I will drive over you like an 18-wheeler drives over a soda can.]
Much like a robot, I responded like I was programmed to give only one answer, “I ask for a raise every year, unless I’ve gotten a raise or promotion the year before.”
[…because a) this works 50% of the time and b) I want you to know that I am not at work to look cute, take up space or settle – because you say so. I am serious about my life, and you – money-giving person – need to be serious too.]
“Really?” he said in disbelief.
And I just powered onward. “Yes, they owe me an explanation as to why I cannot have the money I want. Or they owe me an explanation as to how to become worthy [in their eyes] of the money I want.”
[For the love of the goddess, RuPaul, and her fabulous ingenue, Latrice Royale – don’t say that out loud. My point is be serious so other people take your intentions seriously. Embody the rest…]
He grimaced and was taken-aback by my directness.
“That is what I am afraid of.” He was seriously blowing my mind with his vulnerability now. “I don’t want to be told why I am not liked.”
[Oh, fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. I am not sure why I feel like a douchebag. I was trying to empower him, and he seemed so defeated.]
Let me say it again – I SUCK AT GIVING ADVICE.
“Why?” I re-program myself to proceed gently – and act human for crissakes, “how will I ever know what they are thinking, if I don’t ask?”
This conversation quickly ended as they usually do.
[Note to self: Don’t answer questions. Questions are bad.]
Take it from someone who can’t remember anything because there is just too much shit to remember. Passwords. Schedules. Appointments. All of the things I want to do. All of the things I forgot to do.
Must I go on?
No one is sitting around trying to read your mind to figure what you may or may not want so they can hand it to you on a silver platter.
They are mother[truck]ing busy. With their life. Their dreams. Their family, job, and appointments.
Because everyone has their own version of cat puke to clean up off of their own rug.
They are not necessarily being mean or insensitive or oblivious or selfish by not being able to read your mind.
Sometimes the answer is very simple.
They are busy.
And it is not really their job to advocate for me or you. It is nice when they do.
But it is not their job.
My best advocate will always be me. And that is how it should be.
If it is important enough for me to want, it should be important enough for me to ask. And I don’t really care what it is.
A wedding ring [I don’t want this, but I know so many people afraid to ask their partner while years of their life just evaporate…]
Or a raise or attention or a compliment or a hug or respect or for more than 5 seconds of foreplay.
It is all the same.
If I want to be on someone’s agenda, I have to put myself there [because that is the only way to guarantee I’ll get there – if only for a second.]
Besides, my telepathic skills have been rusty.
Here is yet another bedtime story from the Dark Side – I mean work.
Once upon a time…
Last summer an office at work became vacant.
Space at work is hard to come by so getting your own office would be like winning the Olympic gold medal. Not 2 seconds after the announcement of the vacancy, I zipped into my director’s office and said I wanted that office.
Just like everyone else wanted it too.
I had my arguments and justifications ready.
Weeks and months rolled by like tumbleweeds in the desert. And the office was still vacant.
Lots of the town folk were whispering and guessing who’s gonna get “the office.”
Whispering in the hallways.
In the bathroom.
To anyone who would listen.
Anyone, of course, but the one person that could help them get what they wanted.
That is totally why I go the mechanic to examine my uterus and the gynecologist to do my oil changes. It makes complete sense to talk to all of the people who can’t help me.
In February, I am going to the hairdresser to do my taxes.
Here is another good thing about being an introvert [I LOVE saying that now – so so so glad I wrote that blog. I feel free.] – I go to the source. It eliminates unnecessary conversations.
That way, I know the intended message reaches the intended target.
Anyway,the gossip mill was ablaze in the village. The weary villagers became upset as time went on – and the conversation changed from “Who? Who will get the office?” to “Who shouldn’t get it?” or “Who didn’t deserve it?”
Like ONTD [Oh, no they didn’t.]
Logically, lots of people deserved the office. I don’t know if they submitted a formal request and/or if they followed up on it every month.
But I did.
The angry villagers were pissed when they found out who got the office. She doesn’t deserve it – they said. The villagers gave the gold medal winner nasty looks galore.
This Tuesday, after I ogle Professor Unicorn drinking my incredibly expensive Starbucks coffee [because, again, tight ass and coffee go together just like peanut butter and jelly] – I will pass the villagers by as I walk to my still-feels-like-new office.
I will smile, say “good morning” and fumble with my keys – like I always do. Then, I will spread out in all of that extra space [that I really don’t need.]
Put my jacket over here.
And purse over there.
My plants that sit happily in front of my wall-to-wall window – and are growing like a brush fire – will get some much-needed TLC.
I will sit in the sun in front of the window.
Feeling so content, so happy.
And I won’t forget to close my new office door.
The one that I got from talking out loud
So someone could hear me.
© The Jiggly Bits. All rights reserved.
Thank you for reading this blog. I finally figured out how to set up a Facebook page. It took me forever because it hurts my brain and stuff :)
I still don’t understand Facebook. But feel free to “Like Us on Facebook” in the top-right.
However, if you are one of those people who would rather cut off their hand than join a Facebook anything, um… I dig it.
Have a mah-velous day, gorgeous. Cheers.