bitterdiva

So that's why I'm so bitchy at work

Typically I post a long monologue about some injustice or some factor that really gets me all confussled. Today, I'm doing something a little bit different.

Everyday I wake up and I go to work (sans weekends of course) and everyday I get so frustrated and so angry that I just want to stick my letter opener into the heart of every person that bothers me. This of course includes the phone which I want to rip out of the wall and throw it at the windows.

Some of my problems may lie in the fact that I work in a sick office building. The guy who sits on the other partition of me told me about the article on MSN's website. The building I work in is brand new, it was finally completed in June and we moved in here in July. So what's the deal with the building and why am I so bitchy? I'll focus on the aspects of the building and not the people I work with - I could go on for hours with that topic.

I sit at my desk in front of my monitor, with the cold winter air blowing on me since it's a naturally ventilated system. Then I turn on my heater because I am freezing, then I get hot, shut off the heater and I'm cold again. In the summer the hot humid air blows on me but thankfully also there's air conditioning. Also, in the winter we're surrounded by residence buildings so some person in an attempt to heat their home with a fireplace burns wood which gets sucked up by the natural ventilation system and my eyes burn and tear.

Noise levels? You want to talk about noise, I sit across from the copier room. If the dolts don't shut the door I get the wonderful low frequency drumming of the copier in my head and I inevitably become deaf. I can't even hear my speakers which are playing at an optimum level so that my coworkers aren't forced to listen to my music. Then the pounding headache starts and I just get bitchier and bitchier by the moment only to start yelling at my computer screen. One of these days I'm going to snap and cut the power to that damn machine.

The third aspect of the article is dust. I have more dust on my desk from some unknown source that I think there's a kitten sleeping behind my computer and my printer. I know that dust is typically dead skin particles or other particles from the human body. I understand that. My dust isn't human particles though, it's little blue fuzzy things that collect and build up around me. My description of it is that there's some giant sitting in the basement of the building wearing a chenile sweater and allowing the little fuzzies to be sucked up and displaced all over my desk.

I like my job, it's decent pay and excellent benefits, but the fucking building I work in completely sucks for being a state-of-the-art one. I do enjoy the number of people that walk by my desk and trip and stumble down the walkway. These trippings are caused by the gremlins that hide in the in-between places and are so quick that no one sees them place their tiny leg out for you to stumble upon. They make this job enjoyable, I just wish they would stop doing it to me, I'm on their side.

No prayers | 09:17 AM

February 20th, 2002

I often look at the calendar and think, “oh, next week is right around the corner.” My life is usually so typical that I can predict every moment that is going to happen. I wake up around 7, take a shower, dress, go to work, go to lunch, go back to work, leave work, go to class depending on the day, go home, eat dinner, watch tv, go to bed. My life never has any surprising moments, well directly affected by myself of course. I rarely ever dictate my fun activities, if I did, I probably would be found sitting in front of my computer playing some computer game allowing my brain to rot.

I often enjoy the monotony of my life. I love to bitch about it as well. I hate my job, I hate my debt, I hate being single, I hate this and I hate that. So what happens to me when a guy shows any interest in myself (and has gotten past the barrier of unintelligible conversations and stupidity)? If your guess was, push them away as far as you can, you win.

Last night as I was lying in my drug induced haze on the bed I started thinking about me. It’s very rare in life when I actually analyze myself; I’m typically analyzing others to help them out (most people don’t listen to my advice though or they listen and don’t act on it – but that’s another rant for another day). So some discoveries about yours truly: I am too messed up in the head to actually be pursuing any form of romantic relationship. I have commitment and intimacy issues - I’m more like a guy in that aspect. Actually despite the fact that I have breasts and a vagina, I’m pretty much a male. I feel as if I am bound to walk this planet alone and I destroy the best relationships because of that feeling. By the time any male has piqued an interest in me, I have already laid out the map of the relationship realizing the end.

What do I want out of life? Other besides the wish of being debt free I would have to say have a job in which I am truly happy in. I want to be able to explore countries; I want to be with my soul mate; I want to not be sacrificing my feelings for the well being of another person; I want my prince charming; I want a lot of things in life, but I’m afraid that I will never deem myself worthy enough to pursue them.

This past weekend my roommate had someone over, he and she were watching American Beauty, and during the course of the movie the freaky boyfriend says to the daughter’s friend that she is ordinary. I fear being ordinary, I fear being average at something, and most of all, I fear being happy. I haven’t known what it’s like to be happy in a long, long time. I think I’m happy when I’m in a relationship; I think I’m happy when I’m not in a relationship; I think I’m happy when I’m helping someone understand some concept in organic chemistry. But these things aren’t happiness, they’re fleeting moments where happiness is trying to peek out through the light and give me a sense of what it’s truly like to be happy. My father hasn’t been happy in over 10 years. I don’t think that my brother and sister are happy, nor my mother. There are moments of joy in everyone’s life that we reminisce upon and a smile cracks through the sullen expression on our face. There’s that supposed magical moment in time where we’re completely happy that time just stands still. I thought I experienced this several times but the hurt and despair of the broken relationship sullied it.

So funseekers, if you ever have a chance at happiness, for fuck’s sake, don’t pass it up. Even if it turns out to be shitelaiden, you’ll always have the experience of being adventurous and trying something different, and that in itself is not being ordinary.

1 prayer | 06:05 AM

February 11th, 2002

With Valentine’s Day a mere 3 days away, people start to get all uppity when it comes to matters of love and sex. Men scour the earth, desperately seeking some VD booty, woman fawn all over love stories and pity themselves for not being attached to that special someone.

Lately whilst at work, I am bombarded by numerous males seeking that special someone. This is the problem with being a female on the internet – let alone an attractive one. The men that message me must have some extra chromosome running through their genetic makeup that enables them to conjure up that necessary chemical to ask a woman to show them their tits. I guess I shouldn’t bitch about such behaviour when I’m part of the population that encourages such things by divulging said pictures.

But honestly, is a woman supposed to be flattered by inane speak using words that aren’t spelled out such as u and ur in replace of you and your; of questions that could be simply answered by looking at one’s profile (profiles.yahoo.com/bitterdivas for example) which they already looked at before messaging you because they always like to judge a face before communication commences? No, of course not.

Then comes the matters of typical questions, what do you like to do for fun; what do you do for a living; where do you take classes; what are you studying; what do you look like? I realize that the majority of the population is average looking, but one rule men should learn about woman is the most hated question of all, how much do you weigh? Because after all, isn’t it looks that these men are partially going to base their pursuit of you after? And with the onslaught of media’s perfect image of a woman forced many of the females into a diet-botox-dyeing frenzy wouldn’t the question just make them feel more uncomfortable and more prone to not ever speaking to you again?

As an overweight-depressed-liberal-feminist, I realize most of the problems with the world; as a woman with a maternal instinct, I want to shield people from hurt; and as a angry and bitter bitch I want people to suffer the injustices they deserve. So those who really want naked photos of a girl that they find highly intelligent, zany, and with a good sense of humour (most characteristics of the said overweight-depressed-female), be careful of what you wish for, especially for the faint of heart. I have taken the motto “fuck ‘em” if they can’t handle what they see. Though to be honest, I really haven’t had many complaints.

Three days from now is Valentine’s Day. So while women are wishing that they are getting flowers and diamond rings from their respective partners, I’ll be wishing for men to finally leave me alone. The real holiday is today, Satisfied Being Single Day. I have spent most of my life being afraid of being alone, but now I’m fearing the thought of commitment. I just want to sit back, have some fun, and get a big slice of deep dick pizza.

No prayers | 11:10 AM