I think it's time I address the word "hater" as well as all the idiots who use the term freely without fully understanding what it means. 

Those of us who've grown up in inner-cities and don't have our heads up our asses are well-familiarized with this term, so you know all too well also where I'm coming from here. 

First off, according to the Urban Dictionary, the term hater is defined as



That's what it means.  It does not mean that when I express disdain for something like broccoli that I must hate all green vegetables. 

Got it?

The truth of the matter is that I'm not jealous of anyone.  Never have been, never will be.  How's that?  As I've mentioned before, I lived in a tight one-bedroom apartment with my family for twenty-three years.  In that time, there were many occasions in which we had no heat, we pretty much had no air-conditioning either.  We lacked in certain areas to put it short.  And our landlord did whatever it took to kick my ailing mother out of our unit in spite of our family forking over the rent each month. 

Oh, wait.  Our landlord did illegally evict us once without allowing our mother to grab her medications.

Anyhoo, we only held back our rent money when our landlord overstepped her bounds by neglecting our building and failing to make repairs.  So that landlord took us to court over and over and over again, only to wind up kissing my mother's ass after each judge's ruling. 

I bring up the challenges, struggles, ups and downs, whatever you want to call them, of my childhood because we kids were taught to make do with what we have.  I wore my brothers' and cousins' clothing and shoes, even if they were too big if for the sake of keeping my father's lethal mouth shut.  Our apartment was crumbling.  We didn't have the luxuries some others have.  And guess what?  We still weren't fucking bratty haters.  We weren't unfulfilled.  We didn't hate anyone who had more than we did.  We each pulled up our pants in the way we knew how, and attempted to get the hell out of a volatile environment.  It's just that my younger brother didn't make it out...

So when I say that I cannot respect the "metamorphic" missions of women who run away to India and Italy, away from their problems, after ungratefully cheating on their nice husbands and somehow making other women feel sorry for them, it's not because I'm a hater.  Rather, it's because I've faced my problems head-fucking-on, making all the changes and sacrifices necessary to my progress in life, and I believe that other women are capable of just that if not more. 

When women fall for Eat, Pray, Love, they are falling for words that paint stunning imagery of foreign lands and pretty clothing and tasty food and all the superficial things that, in the end, do not make us truly happy.  And if they do make us happy, the happiness is temporary.  We are individually responsible for our own happiness.   Thus, not only do I lack respect for someone like Liz Gilbert and her spawn, Eat, Pray, Love and her deluded, obsessive sheeple, but I find nothing honestly successful about her.  As a speaker, she may be breathtakingly charming.  However, what she's presented through her work is nothing realistic, mind-blowing or, for that matter, new.  In fact, Gilbert's memoir is great big pity party, and women who slobber over Eat, Pray, Love are indulging in a great, big, pitiful orgy.

Learn what "hater" means.  I am not a hater simply on the basis of disliking and disrespecting something you have an orgasm over.  Not everyone has to follow the sheeple and, like, obsess over the flavor of the month.   I, for one, sure as hell do not follow the crowd and never have, which would explain being made fun of in schools.  I have (and have had) my own brain to think with, my own heart to work with.  I express my own thoughts on matters, and guess what?   It's taken years of cojones to do all of that.  More cojones than Liz Gilbert has demonstrated through running away from her problems, having affair after affair, and supposedly bettering her life.  More cojones than some of the groupies that support this crap.

I'd have to be jealous of someone who is truly successful in order to be a "hater".  But I don't hate and, as far as I and others are concerned, pity-party authors like Liz Gilbert aren't truly successful.  Sorry if that brings you a meltdown.




Eh, maybe this is what I'm trying to say to those of you who think you know me so well.

 

    

My friend, Brian Kao, a remarkably talented photographer and intelligent individual, entered


Before I get to what the line got me thinking about, do harass Brian until he re-displays his landscape shots on his beautiful, clean website again, please.  He captures New York City and so many areas of our world in such a magnificent way, and if we all harass him enough, maybe he'll give in and put the snapshots back where they belong. 

Thanks.

Moving on, yeah.  I got to thinking about his concise, clear statement.  About Life, career, life as a career, and ADD.

Huh?  ADD?  As in Attention Deficit Disorder, Deb?

Yeah, ADD.  As in Attention Deficit Disorder.  I received an e-mail earlier about some lecture-y sessions being held in September pertaining to career, life, ADD, etc.  And one of the questions blaring specifically from the ADD lecture advertisement was:

    

I realize that I've been calling people, novels, films, industries, etc out on their bullshit the past few days.  It hasn't been deliberate-- it's been a natural occurrence so far, honestly.  However, it's all making sense.  We have way more bullshit than we'll ever need circulating the planet, and that fact reminds me of a certain special rant by the late but great George Carlin. 

Good God, Carlin was a genius and one of my two sole favorite celebrities.  If there is a God, he/she/it did something right by putting Carlin on this somewhat green Earth.

Anyway, without further ado, I treat you to E Pluribus Bullshit of The Bovine Feces Trilogy :




Every time you're exposed to advertising in America you're reminded that this country's most profitable business is still the manufacture, packaging, distribution, and marketing of bullshit.  High-quality, grade-A, prime-cut, pure American bullshit.

And the sad part is that most people seem to believe bullshit only comes from certain predictable sources: advertising, politics, salesmen and lawyers.  Not true.  Bullshit is everywhere.  Bullshit is rampant.  Parents are full of shit, teachers are full of shit, clergymen are full of shit, and law enforcement is full of shit.  This entire country is completely full of shit-- and always has been.  From the Declaration of Independence to the Constitution to the "Star Spangled Banner", it's nothing more than one big, steaming pile of red-white-and-blue, all-American bullshit.

Think of how it all started: America was founded by slave owners who informed us, "All men are created equal."  All "men", except Indians, niggers, and women.  Remember, the founders were a small group of unelected, white, male, land-holding slave owners who also, by the way, suggested their class be the only one allowed to vote.  To my mind, that is what's known as being stunningly-- and embarrassingly-- full of shit.  And everybody bought it.  All Americans bought it.

And those same Americans continue to show their ignorance with all this nonsense about wanting their politicians to be honest.  What are these cretins thinking?  Do they realize what they're wishing for?  If honesty were suddenly introduced into American life, everything would collapse.  It would destroy this country, because our system is based on an intricate and delicately balanced system of lies.

And I think that somehow, deep down, Americans understand this.  That's why they elected-- and reelected-- Bill Clinton.  Because given a choice, Americans prefer their bullshit right out front, where they can get a good, strong whiff of it.  Clinton may have been full of shit, but at least he let you know it.  And people like that.

In '96, Dole tried to hide his bullshit, and he lost.  He kept saying, "I'm a plain and honest man".  People don't believe that.  What did Clinton say?  He said, "Hi folks!  I'm completely full of shit, and how do you like that?"  And the people said, "You know what?  At least he's honest.  At least he's honest about being completely full of shit".


Source

Carlin, George. Napalm & Silly Putty. New York: Hyperion, 2001. Print.

    

An excerpt from brilliant author Shefa Siegel's What's an EPL Skeptic to Do When Faced with Demands to See the Film Version?:


Here is how I recommend handling oneself in an Eat, Pray, Love confrontation:

Start by saying you loved the book, and it is your dream to publish a complementary spiritual memoir, Eat, S@#!, Die.  In this book, you arrive home one evening, look at your wife, decide she is no longer hot enough, leave her, buy a motorcycle, find a 19-year-old Cuban girl, put her on the back of the bike, and bomb down the Pan-American Highway to Costa Rica.

No doubt this will enrage many in the room, who bristle at your audacity to dub such a book a tale of spiritual awakening, even accuse you of setting back the equal rights movement by half a century.  They might suggest your face should be illuminated on a Times Square jumbo screen with a ticker reading, "Do not date this man."...

You can read the rest of Siegel's hilarious article here: www.themarknews.com/articles/1985-the-anti-eat-pray-love

Sorry, I'm just not one of those I'm-having-an-orgasm-over-the-sound-and-thought-of-Eat-Pray-Love sheeple.  

Besides, I think that women are stronger than this steaming horseshit (many just don't know it thanks to this steaming horseshit), and men are fucking great. 

    

    

Apple was given her name at birth.  And we kept it.  It is a cute name, and we spice it up by pluralizing it sometimes. 

Like when she gets into trouble:

"APPLES.  What are you doing?"

It's also kinda unique around here.  Throughout the seven years I've lived in this town, I've not met one puppy named Apple. 

Also, Apple is more acceptable for a dog than John. 

"But what if Apple was nameless?"  Chris asked me the other day while I was cooking something up in the kitchen.  "What would we have named her then?"

"I dunno," I said, flipping over something and watching it sizzle.

What would we have named her?  That was an excellent question.  It prompted me to stop what I was doing and stare at my puppy for answers.  What name could have suited the snoring, farting, furry gladiator whose long tongue sticks out the side of her panting mouth during each and every walk?  What name would appropriately reflect those dark, shiny pebbles for eyes she melts us with?  And those soft floppy ears?  And that tail that happily thumps on the floor, couch, bed, bathroom rug... whenever she sees me nearing her?  And those four dusty paws that attack my pants with gray prints everyday?

It's funny.  I can come up with the standard deviation of 4, 9, 11, 12, 17, 5, 8, 12 and 14.  But a puppy name?  Not so much.  I really couldn't think of anything.  And not only couldn't I come up with a name, I realized how hard it would have been to name our puppy.  How many trips to the dog run would be awkward for her without a name? 

"What's your puppy's name?" someone might ask.

"______________."

And how would I get her to come to me? 

Wow.

"Dog,"  I offered.

"Really.  You'd name her Dog.  What about D-a-w-g... Dawg?" Chris asked.

"Alright.  Now you're being ridi--"

And then it dawned on us.




"RANDY JACKSON," Chris exclaimed.  "That's what we would name her..."

"...to get back that rat-bastard, son-of-a-gunfor insulting the canine species each time he'd referred to an American Idol contestant as dawg!" I yelled.

    

I'm writing from a place filled with fiery frustration and annoyance today.  *Unlike most other days*, I know.  I rarely become frustrated with humanity after all.

Yeah, I know. 

One of my loved ones is someone I consider a leader.  He/she is a responsible, ethical, generous higher-up in an unmentionable corporation. 

Well, it's not his/her position or title or corporation that is frustrating me.  What's frustrating is the discovery of some training videos and other materials he/she is required to watch and read and learn from.  Why? 

Because some of these training materials are ridiculously full of shit.  So full of shit they are that they steam puffs of poop air.  That's why.  And, unfortunately for me and the rest of the world, my memory has been brought way, way back to a time in which I watched training videos and followed other assorted nonsensical materials in some of my previous jobs.  Supposedly they were intended to assist me while on the clock, with tips on handling challenging situations such as, say, confrontations, fighting amongst the kids I worked with in a classroom once. 

Trust me, the materials hadn't done a damn thing right to soothe or dissipate a conflict.  In fact, while teachers were coming across like Dr. Oz and Dr. Phil to four-year-olds, one of our kids was bitten on the earlobe during a conflict with another kid.  Ha, yeah, like that Tyson fight years ago! 

Anyhow, by the time we pulled the child who'd attacked his peer like a starving, rabid wild animal, a kid who never caused any trouble for anyone was hurt... although I suppose the materials may have been a teensy bit helpful if some of the teachers and supervisors actually gave a shit about their jobs and enjoyed working with children instead of discussing what they would be drinking or doing that night while awaiting a paycheck and failing to supervise the children adequately, but I digress.  The materials didn't work, because they didn't apply to everyone and every situation, and that was that.

So now I'm as pissed off as a crack-addicted dragon on her first day in withdrawal mode.  Because in some of my loved one's training materials, I discovered excuses for rudeness from adults.

Fucking really? 

Yeah, fucking really.  Apparently, if, say, you're hosting a seminar and trying to get across a simple fluffy function in a room, and six adult attendees are whispering to one another and another nine adult attendees are tinkering their fingertips away on their stupid up-to-date, hand-held electronics, there MUST be some "underlying cause or root" to this problem or "dysfunctional behavior". 

There must be some "underlying cause" or "root" to... this "dysfunctional behavior"?

Dysfunctional?

Hey, "experts", fuck you and your colorful, sugar-coated, psychological decoration of a dysfunctional behavior people with a clue recognize as, in plain English, RUDENESS. 

You really wanna know the "cause" or "root" of tinkering with hand-held electronics during a meeting?

You really wanna know the "cause" or "root" of whispering during a seminar?

It's called DISINTEREST borne of SELFISHNESS, ARROGANCE and ENTITLEMENT.  If an attendee were interested in the topic presented, and considerate of the speaker and the other guests, and if the attendee didn't consider him/herself above a presenter, he/she would be quiet, he/she would listen to and respect a presenter, and the attendee would behave like an adult, raising his/her hand whenever questions or concerns come up or saving them until the end of a seminar for the presenter.

Gee, how is it possible that I don't possess a degree in Psychology and yet I broke down rudeness for the experts? 

Keep my gold star.  I don't care if I've helped figure out where rudeness stems from, "experts".  I don't care if there's a damn cause for rudeness or fifteen of them.

Rudeness is just plain fucking wrong anyway you slice, frost or garnish it.  If you're attending an hour-long seminar in which a host/speaker is investing his/her time and expertise on YOU, the very least you can do for that host is turn your goddamn cellphones off and keep from whispering while the host/speaker is presenting his/her information.  PERIOD.  Otherwise, if you whisper or argue with a presenter or tinker with your cellphone, you're behaving like a disinterested, selfish, entitled, arrogant jackass.

If a presentation is not your cup of tea, excuse yourself and tip-toe out.  Simple stuff.  Why make life difficult for a presenter or his/her attentive guests? 

Hell, here's another idea:  if you don't like the seminar, why not grow some balls and kick off your OWN seminars?  That way, you can always be right and powerful as a host or speaker, blabbing all you want about what you do like, and you can behave like the asshole you are as well because, in this case, you'll be the star of your show.  A real class act.

Stop making excuses for rudeness and rude assholes, "experts". 




When you're a dick, you're a dick.

    

Hooray for conflict. 

Well, most conflict anyway.  I mean, the fucktardation occurring between Israel and Lebanon over a tree is just a goddamn ridiculous example of conflict.  But a necessary kind of conflict,  the kind that makes life worth living is good. 

Yet, prissy misses out there prefer to avoid conflict.  Little do they know that time does not soothe or dissipate all conflicts.   Some continue to exist.  In fact, not only do some continue to exist, they grow.  Like an untreated yeast infection.

(I was very tempted to post a photo depicting a yeast infection.  However, I've kindly decided to spare your tummies.)





















So one must pick and choose one's battles wisely, with awareness and common sense under one's belt.  Conflict is in the eye of the beholder.  Sometimes some of us don't see a conflict where it is clear to others that one exists. 

Conflict also needs to be worth addressing and partaking in.  If you don't care about its propensity to grow like a yeast infection, or about the relationship (if one is involved), or about the conflict, or about the consequences-- if you don't obsess over the conflict or over who's right and who's wrong-- then, in my opinion, you don't fuel it.  And if you don't fuel a conflict with, say, ridiculousness or extremism or arrogance, it can eventually fade away, like a lit cigarette butt left on the ground, and life moves on. 





Like the life of Steven Slater, a man who'd initiated a rather fantastic and memorable conflict on a Jet Blue aircraft.  He'll be in prison until his $2000-something dollar bail has been met. See also: Longer than Naomi Campbell will ever be imprisoned in spite of having truly, and repeatedly, placed the lives of others in jeopardy for getting her dry cleaning instructions wrong. 

When Slater's bail will be posted is a separate story.  I'm pretty sure that he can have his bail posted by, say, his ex-wife whom he continues to be linked to in a civil and friendly manner.  He can just pay her back.  We're not talking about a million-dollar bail here.  And I sense that he isn't short of funds if he happily left his job and set the stage for a revolution. 

Slater also has the option of accepting monies from Facebook fundraisers who aim to bail him out. 

But he hasn't accepted any helpful offers so far.  Slater find his arrest amusing.  He perceives the consequences of his actions aboard the Jet Blue aircraft as a sarcastic "big deal".

Love. 

Him.

Love him. 

Steven Slater is my hero.  Many of you have come to know Slater as an overly dramatic Jet Blue flight attendant who told a poor little innocent female passenger to "fuck off".  But I know him as a guy who stood up for his rights on the job as well as one of the few people on the planet who makes sense and who will pave the way for freedom from oppression.  Because it's not just people in third world countries who remain oppressed.  It's not just a large population of women and children who remain oppressed.  And it's most certainly not just an exclusive group of starving or financially-strapped or "loveless" folks we should support and offer sympathy and compassion to. 

No.  Many, many, many people, in their own way, live in a silent oppressed state in order to make ends meet.  And when I say "ends", I refer to both the ends of finances and sanity.  Leave the typical, annoying lack-of-romantic-partner story to General Hospital.  If you're having trouble finding a romantic partner or a companion, it's because you're having trouble adjusting your delusional standards to meet all that reality has to offer.

I believe that  Steven Slater was trying to make these very ends-- sanity and finances-- meet just like everyone else.  He just wasn't desperate about it.  He didn't have a family of 15 to feed, you know?  Slater devoted his skills and talent to the airline industry for twenty years.  Not five years.  Not three years.  Twenty years.  As such, I somehow don't think that he stood by the airline industry for shits and giggles or because of a royal paycheck and bonuses and other surface crap. 

Let's face it.  Slater enjoyed serving others throughout his lengthy career on the basis of having tolerated countless ungrateful bastards for so many years.  Hell, he's probably even put up with your shit once.  And why was his career tolerable? 

First, he didn't have to deal with the same rat-bastard passengers everyday.  Similar entitled, egotistical, stubborn attitudes and constipated dispositions, here and there, sure.  But not the same people.  Otherwise, he'd have blown a gasket a lot sooner. 

Second, Slater traveled to different parts of... well, he traveled wherever his flights were headed, and he explored various destinations with pay and benefits.  So he had it good, I think.  Each day for Slater was not-horrible, making it easier to stick with this profession over one in a dull, sweaty, cramped cubicle and on an uncomfortable ass-smelling chair. 

Easier to stick with over any professions some would rather not be a part of anymore.

Some of you know what I'm talking about, I'm sure.

Why did he do what he did then?  Why tear the ass off of a passenger? 

Likely because Jet Blue, and the airline industry itself, has changed in so many ways throughout the years, putting the passenger far ahead of their employees.  Makes sense in this economic climate; the airline industry has suffered on and off throughout the economic dips and rises-- dances, essentially-- we've performed since 2007.  Before then there was ample suffering for the airline industry post the World Trade Center tragedy in 2001.  And more recently, the hacking coughs and fiery vomiting of Mt. Eyjafjallajokull in Iceland choked profit-earning capability by canceling and delaying flights and pissing princess-passengers off.

Thus, it seems that in an effort to compete with the unpredictability of humanity (terrorism) and nature (volcanic phlegm, because  humans apparently are competition for the great forces of nature) by promoting special packages, deals, two-for-one prices, etc, to the masses, and stuffing passengers into planes as they would sausages, the airline industry had placed the frustrated consumer on a TOO HIGH pedestal, serving their every whim, and forcing their loyal employees to eat their shit (for lack of a better analogy) during each and every hour of every single flight.

That said, the altercation that erupted between Slater and the anonymous passenger wasn't intended to be overly emotional, dramatic, a scene from a Broadway show, or a manifestation of some divine astrological square-- it was an eruption for the good of all. 

Yes, friends.  This eruption NEEDED to happen.  It needed to be brought to the light of the media, and Slater knew it.  That's why he's famous for all the right reasons, regardless of what the prissies say.

Now the airline industry no longer has an upper-hand over their loyal, longtime employees.  The airline industry doesn't want to lose any more money by appearing like the bad guy it probably is, so they'll not terminate Slater.

Now these employees might earn some respect from those they serve, as well as from those who hire them.  Trust that what Slater did was the tip of the iceberg in retaliation to mistreatment from a passenger.  What the consumer is scared shitless of is an angry employee's whipping out a gun and targeting every soul on board an aircraft in the heat of the moment.  And that's what will be prevented if employees are treated with respect by both their employer and the passengers.  Or else screw your special requests for specialty diet soda when the snack and beverage cart come rolling by.    

So Jet Blue, and all other airlines, had better treat their employees respectfully from here forth, for if they don't learn from this experience, and acknowledge that they'll lose their best employees in their greedy quest to suck blood out of the sheepish masses, airlines will fiercely struggle to stay afloat in a challenging climate AGAIN. 

Slater's final straw manifested as a heavy load of luggage falling upon his head, leading him to tell an entitled passenger who didn't wish to follow the rules and who told him to "fuck off", because the basic guidelines of traveling didn't apply to her, to fuck off right back via the aircraft's public announcement system.  And rightfully so.  According to the New York Times:

At the arraignment on felony charges of reckless endangerment andcriminal mischief in a packed room in the basement of criminal court,Mr. Slater’s court-appointed lawyer, Howard Turman,said that Mr. Slater’s activation of the slide was not reckless. Hesaid Mr. Slater followed the proper procedure for activating the slide,checking out the window first to make sure no one was on the tarmac whocould be struck by it.

Mr. Turman, of the Legal Aid Society,offered an account of the flight, JetBlue 1052 from Pittsburgh, that hesaid justified Mr. Slater’s actions. He told reporters that on theground in Pittsburgh, a female passenger had been verbally andphysically abusive to Mr. Slater when he intervened as she squabbledwith a male passenger over access to the overhead luggage compartment.

“The woman initially at Pittsburgh slammed the overhead into his head,” Mr. Turman said of Mr. Slater.

A passenger on the flight, Greg Kanczes, said that he saw a large,fresh-looking gash on Mr. Slater’s forehead at the beginning of theflight. “It was about an inch-and-half long, and it was a big red markor cut,” Mr. Kanczes said by phone Tuesday. “There was no bandage.”

About bail:

Steven Slater, the JetBlue flight attendant who activated an exit chuteon a just-landed plane at Kennedy International Airport after a disputewith a passenger Monday and slid to notoriety, did not post the $2,500 bail set by a judge at his arraignment Tuesday morning and remains in custody.


Sigh.  I only wish I had Slater's "balls" when I was cursed at by a former employer.  Without revealing names or being vindictive, a former employer yelled what seemed to be an endless string of curse words over the phone once-- she in her workspace just a couple of doors down from mine-- because I didn't handle something the way she wanted me to.  Before this incident, she'd mouthed off in a condescending manner to me, without cursing, but still saying "it's common sense, Debbie" at the end of her special requests.

Totally professional, right?

Right.  Except she hadn't told me how to handle this unique situation.  She knew ahead of time that her client, the cause of her fury and PMS-like explosion, would try to pull a fast one on her business.  And she knew she should have dealt with him herself.  But my former employer just didn't have the tits to address the scene.  Probably because that would have required her to get up from her desk, think and act.  But I digress.

Folks, I have never, ever, ever, EVER mouthed off at an employer.  Ever.  Each time a professional relationship hadn't worked out throughout my life, though rare, whether I'd felt that I didn't belong in a job or if I was just plain being mistreated, I'd use my guts to request a civilized, private meeting that would ultimately lead to the decision of either staying in or leaving the situation.  Period.  And after leaving any intolerable job environment, guess what?  I'd come across a better job, a better paycheck-- a better employment offer in general after picking up my pants and dusting myself off of toxicity. 

What such a decision boils down to is the need to be brave in life and not put up with an employer's insecurities, possessiveness, psychotic behavior-- basically an employer's shit.  It's only fair, and it's the only way to clear the way for what you really want and deserve in your professional path.  Otherwise, you choose to be someone's welcome mat. 

Anyhow, the root of my former employer's rant was her lack of knowledge in running her own business, calculating her own figures, etc.  She depended on us to do it all these things for her, essentially coddling her. 

What the thirty-something, seemingly successful __________ hadn't realized was that she could have adequately trained her employees to handle their duties in the way she wanted instead of depending on us to do her bidding as if we were world-renown psychics and natural geniuses... IF she'd learned to use her own system and run her business!  No one is naturally born a genius with a serving tray of skills.  We all learn and train ourselves to do things, and some of us learn faster than others is all.  She just wasn't a responsible employer and business owner.

That's bad for business.

The alternative would have been to hire someone to run her business for her, but that would mean dishing out a higher salary and humbling herself in the process.  And learning the inner workings of her damn business so that it is run ethically.

So I pulled my employer aside that day, post the curse fest and right before I headed out to lunch.  Seated in her office, I respectfully and politely told her how I felt about her having spewed "fuck, shit, I knew that client was full of shit, fuck, shit, etc" at me, that I'd done nothing but respect her authority the entire time I served her business, and that I felt I deserved an apology.  I wasn't perfect, I added, and there were many facets of my job that I still needed to learn and get used to.  But at least I apologized each time I fucked up and took responsibility for it. 

And, folks, I curse.  But I only do so on my blog and occasionally on Facebook and in the presence of loved ones who are accepting of my curse usage and just before I tear someone a new ass.  

That's it. 

I didn't deserve her raging bitch tantrum.  That was the bottom line. 

And how did my former employer respond? 

She responded with a half-assed apology.  You know the one: "I'm sorry... BUT..."  But I frustrated her.  But I somehow made her professional life unbearable.  But I wrote in blue ink instead of black ink (I shit you not) and her world was coming to an end.

Bull.  Shit.  My former employer took out her bad day or bitter existence on me that day.  That's what really happened, and I still tried to be an understanding adult about it.

Needless to say, my genuinely compassionate attitude failed.  The half-assed apology stood strong, and it became the final straw for me.  I was very well familiarized with this kind of apology, having received one before, specifically from someone I thought to be a friend who created a conflict between a friend of hers and I.  That's what bored gals did, I supposed.  However, what that former friend should have offered at the time was "I'm sorry, Deb, but I'm still going to stalk your website and leave angry comments on it with my friends because, though we're all our late-twenties and thirties, our brains are still in High School, we hate you, and we have no balls."  I'd have accepted that as it would have been a honest sincere. 

As I've mentioned before, say what you wish about me.  I know who I am, and so long as a hand isn't placed on me, we can coexist.

Half-assed apologies, fake-apologies, whatever you call them-- they are irritating.  There's no "but" next to an apology, folks.  Either apologize or don't.  Quit attempting at manipulative game-play with people like me who have been manipulated before-- it doesn't work. 

Still, I didn't offer the suggestion that my former boss get to know her business even remotely.  I didn't offer those helpful two-cents of mine to my former boss.  It would have felt really good at the time to have taken a page out of Steven Slater's book and... 

But I didn't.  I figured she'd either learn to run her business-- to swim-- or sink, and that her karma was her karma (not mine). 

And that was that. 

Besides, my two-cents just wouldn't have made one bit of sense or difference in her world.  As such, I resigned from my position that very day, at the end of my shift.   My former employer, a couple of years my senior as well as a couple of classes above mine, and her business were no longer worth my time, dedication or effort. 

She later tried to make me feel bad about leaving the job via a semi-controlling e-mail.

I replied with an e-mail that indicated that I was more than happy to drop off my key. 

Folks, I can spot a manipulative type with the eyes on the back of my head. 

Since then, well, my professional and academic life has gone way uphill.  Far more uphill than I've imagined.  I guess that some relationships and situations cause more harm to one's life than good. 

But when I decided to "spray" these toxic relationships away, yeehaw.  What a great ride life suddenly became for me.

If you do deeply care about a relationship in which a conflict has erupted for all the right reasons (translation: reasons which lack immaturity, jealousy, possessiveness, arrogance, grudges and all the things which embitter relationships), on the other hand, I suppose that taking necessary measures to settle it would be the right thing to do.  Even if that means waving a white flag or being the first to offer an olive branch, or doing a kind thing for your "opponent" to control, heal from, and eventually forget the fire and what/who started it. 

Otherwise, you're in the same boat as Slater or my own, vocally and/or mentally telling stupidity to go fuck itself.  In his boat, you take a chance and sacrifice your freedom for a greater good.  In mine, you take a chance and sacrifice your job and source of income for a greater good. 

In both boats, though, you hang onto your self-respect. 

Makes sense.  Self-respect is our life-saver, for we all know how quickly our spirit, sanity and health dies without it.

Either boat is a fine place to be.

    

I've missed you and all. But competition will be growing in fierceness and cattiness, and it's important for me to stick to my guns now, remaining true to myself versus chasing after a number one spot that doesn't last forever. That said, let the games begin. << MORE >>

Aaaand we're buckling down. Fabulous.<< MORE >>