My stomach doesn't always properly fulfill it's stomach-y duties ('doesn't always' --> rarely). As a result, I've grown accustomed to a low-grade stomachache at some point each day.
Unfortunately, I think all of my literal gut feelings are causing me to ignore/excuse any figurative gut feelings I may have. Either that, or I enjoy making things harder on myself.
September 30, 2012
September 28, 2012
The Day I Grew Balls
It's performance review time at work. After living through it last year, I learned that review season is tense time around the office, and that review results are a don't-ask-don't-tell item (one of my teammates, who everyone assumed would be promoted, was not...it's a long story with shady details involving another less-than-ethical-but-higher-up teammate). In the two weeks between when the reviews are given and when the official announcement of new promotions is released, the only way to know if someone was screwed out of a promotion or raise (or just didn't deserve one) is if they suddenly find a new job and leave the company.
My review was scheduled for yesterday at 9:30 am -- kind of early, but I'm in everyday at 7:00. My bosses, however, are not. At 9:29, one of my bosses stopped by my desk to let me know that the other boss was stuck in traffic, and that my review would be 'sometime later in the day.' So much for getting it over with. The rest of my teammates got their reviews at their regularly scheduled time, and mine was moved the end (a spot generally considered unlucky where salaries and promotions are at stake). At 5:15, they finally called me in.
To make a long story short, their notes on my performance were okay, if not a little harsh. I had to remind them of the fact that I was probably a spaced-out zombie during the time I was working full time and studying...fuller time. Their response: 'Now that you say that, we have noticed a huge jump in your performance since May.' (Duh)
One of my bosses had to leave early, leaving the partner to administer the final piece of the review: the raise. He handed me a sheet of paper (taken out of a confidential envelope - really?), delivered a spiel about the standard raise this year, and asked me to sign that I officially accepted my new salary.
Maybe it was the fact that I'd waited almost eight extra hours, or the fact that the boss who left early had some surprisingly critical comments...either way - I grew balls.
I looked at the sheet for a second. "Actually," I said to the partner, "at last year's review, you said I was one month shy of qualifying for a raise, and that you'd factor it into my next year's raise. I don't see it here."
He looked at me for a second, surprised that I was seemingly rejecting my raise (or surprised that I was a staff, calling out a partner). After a few more seconds of squinting (for recollection purposes?), he finally said, "You know what? I did say that. Let me talk to the managing partner and get this adjusted."
Hiya! Bigger raise! Though I amount I fought for only works out to slightly less than $1,000 extra per year, it felt good to finally stand up for myself after a lifetime of...not standing up for myself.
So there it is, the story of the day I grew the balls to demand a higher salary (Er, remind the partner that he'd promised me the higher salary the previous year...close enough).
PS- I'm 75% sure that my teammate finally got the promotion he should have gotten last year, but like I said, I don't want to ask.
My review was scheduled for yesterday at 9:30 am -- kind of early, but I'm in everyday at 7:00. My bosses, however, are not. At 9:29, one of my bosses stopped by my desk to let me know that the other boss was stuck in traffic, and that my review would be 'sometime later in the day.' So much for getting it over with. The rest of my teammates got their reviews at their regularly scheduled time, and mine was moved the end (a spot generally considered unlucky where salaries and promotions are at stake). At 5:15, they finally called me in.
To make a long story short, their notes on my performance were okay, if not a little harsh. I had to remind them of the fact that I was probably a spaced-out zombie during the time I was working full time and studying...fuller time. Their response: 'Now that you say that, we have noticed a huge jump in your performance since May.' (Duh)
One of my bosses had to leave early, leaving the partner to administer the final piece of the review: the raise. He handed me a sheet of paper (taken out of a confidential envelope - really?), delivered a spiel about the standard raise this year, and asked me to sign that I officially accepted my new salary.
Maybe it was the fact that I'd waited almost eight extra hours, or the fact that the boss who left early had some surprisingly critical comments...either way - I grew balls.
I looked at the sheet for a second. "Actually," I said to the partner, "at last year's review, you said I was one month shy of qualifying for a raise, and that you'd factor it into my next year's raise. I don't see it here."
He looked at me for a second, surprised that I was seemingly rejecting my raise (or surprised that I was a staff, calling out a partner). After a few more seconds of squinting (for recollection purposes?), he finally said, "You know what? I did say that. Let me talk to the managing partner and get this adjusted."
Hiya! Bigger raise! Though I amount I fought for only works out to slightly less than $1,000 extra per year, it felt good to finally stand up for myself after a lifetime of...not standing up for myself.
So there it is, the story of the day I grew the balls to demand a higher salary (Er, remind the partner that he'd promised me the higher salary the previous year...close enough).
PS- I'm 75% sure that my teammate finally got the promotion he should have gotten last year, but like I said, I don't want to ask.
September 25, 2012
Sorry I Am Sorry
Tomorrow is Yom Kippur, the Jewish day of atonement. This year I will be atoning from my cubicle because A- I'm not a member of a temple, and B- I'm hoarding my vacation days (I guess I should add hoarding vacation days to my list of things to atone for). Also, after a few rough attempts in the past, I've decided to not participate in the fast because when I do not eat, I quickly become angry/stupid/forgetful/lightheaded/unconscious, and I probably shouldn't risk any major screw ups the day before my annual salary/performance review.
In summary, I am a horrible Jew, but luckily I can erase (some of) the damage tomorrow during my mini cubicle atonement. To all better (real) Jews, go ahead and judge me. Then add 'being judgmental' to your list of things to atone for.
In summary, I am a horrible Jew, but luckily I can erase (some of) the damage tomorrow during my mini cubicle atonement. To all better (real) Jews, go ahead and judge me. Then add 'being judgmental' to your list of things to atone for.
September 16, 2012
Inspiration
I'm hoping this photo will inspire the universe to cool things down a bit because:
(1) I want to finally be able to wear the 85% of my wardrobe that I can't wear when it's 90-100 degrees, and (2) Me + heat = lazy and lethargic.
So, universe, please cool things down, so I can return to my well-dressed, energetic, productive self (let's pretend, for the sake of my argument, that I normally possess these 3 qualities).
September 12, 2012
Hermit Times
Earlier this evening, I drove through my old neighborhood while running errands. In proximity, it's not far away from where I live now, but sometimes it seems like a different universe.
My old apartment wasn't particularly nice, and other than a few pictures hanging on the walls, had almost nothing in it (roommate and I decided against buying a coffee table or kitchen table, so we ate all meals sitting on the couch with trays on our laps). My roommate and I's relationship consisted of sitting on the couch and watching TV in massive ugly sweatpants and equally oversized t-shirts or hoodies. I never felt embarrassed for looking like crap, which--let's face it--unless I put in a good amount of effort, crap is my natural state. Neither of us went out or had guests over, so I could be a crappy looking hermit in peace.
My new apartment is fully furnished and nicely decorated. With everything being as nice as it is, I'm in a constant state of worry that something will get dirty or ruined. My new roommate always looks perfect. Even when she wears sweats, they're matching pieces that actually fit. She often invites friends over to the apartment, or wants me to go out with her and her friends for wild nights.
So tonight, while I was driving, I realized that I miss being a hermit and looking like crap without feeling at all embarrassed or ashamed.
My old apartment wasn't particularly nice, and other than a few pictures hanging on the walls, had almost nothing in it (roommate and I decided against buying a coffee table or kitchen table, so we ate all meals sitting on the couch with trays on our laps). My roommate and I's relationship consisted of sitting on the couch and watching TV in massive ugly sweatpants and equally oversized t-shirts or hoodies. I never felt embarrassed for looking like crap, which--let's face it--unless I put in a good amount of effort, crap is my natural state. Neither of us went out or had guests over, so I could be a crappy looking hermit in peace.
My new apartment is fully furnished and nicely decorated. With everything being as nice as it is, I'm in a constant state of worry that something will get dirty or ruined. My new roommate always looks perfect. Even when she wears sweats, they're matching pieces that actually fit. She often invites friends over to the apartment, or wants me to go out with her and her friends for wild nights.
So tonight, while I was driving, I realized that I miss being a hermit and looking like crap without feeling at all embarrassed or ashamed.
September 6, 2012
You Can't Turn Down An Invitation You Don't Receive
At the end of a 13 hour day, I'm slumped on my bed, laptop on chest, waiting for the lullabies of Jimi Hendrix lull me to sleep. Since I'm only 97% asleep, here's what's occupying the 3% of my brain that's keeping me awake.
A certain he-who-must-not be named (not Voldemort, but close) finally decided to visit California after...forever (there's a post about the day he left, waaaay back in the blog). I was not notified of this visit. I only knew about it because my sister saw that he'd posted a Facebook status about it, and tagged the people he wanted to see (mature). Though I don't have much to say to him (well, I do, but none of it's nice), and I didn't really want to see him face to face, I wanted him to ask to see me so I could turn him down.
Is that awful of me? Eh. I think he did his fair share of awful things back in the day, and frankly, it's a moot point, because you can't turn down an invitation you don't receive. I guess he wins this round.
And now that I've (oh-so-vaguely) vented, hopefully I'll be able to sleep.
A certain he-who-must-not be named (not Voldemort, but close) finally decided to visit California after...forever (there's a post about the day he left, waaaay back in the blog). I was not notified of this visit. I only knew about it because my sister saw that he'd posted a Facebook status about it, and tagged the people he wanted to see (mature). Though I don't have much to say to him (well, I do, but none of it's nice), and I didn't really want to see him face to face, I wanted him to ask to see me so I could turn him down.
Is that awful of me? Eh. I think he did his fair share of awful things back in the day, and frankly, it's a moot point, because you can't turn down an invitation you don't receive. I guess he wins this round.
And now that I've (oh-so-vaguely) vented, hopefully I'll be able to sleep.
September 4, 2012
Goodbye My Lover
(10 points if you immediately associated this post's title with the overly-dramatic James Blunt song)
I've had a persistently upset stomach for longer than I can remember. My reaction to most medical(ish) issues is to ignore them and hope that they go away, but this stomachache isn't going anywhere. Last night, I came across an article about the existence of a correlation between carbonated drinks and stomach issues. *Lightbulb moment!* I drink ridiculous amounts of soda on a regular basis, and yet somehow I never considered the fact that consuming unhealthy amounts of air, bubbles, chemicals and sugar could be the cause of my problem. I've occasionally pushed around the idea of cutting out soda in the past, but I've never had a compelling enough reason to actually go through with it until now. I'm hoping that the lack of carbonation (and fake sugar, in the case of Coke Zero) will make me feel better, which is totally worth cutting ties with one of my all-time greatest loves in life. Goodbye my lover, goodbye my friend.
September 3, 2012
Whatever Doesn't Work
Sometimes, when I'm angry or upset about something trivial (ie. doesn't concern imminent death or homelessness), I'll try to put things in perspective by thinking about the fact that there are people in truly awful situations. However, this usually just adds a layer of guilt on top of whatever it is that I am angry or upset about. In order to prevent karma from wreaking further havoc upon my life, here's a 3/4-assed apology letter:
The Above Mentioned Shallow Idiot
Dear people of the world in truly awful situations:
I'm very sorry about whatever is happening in your life, and I hope it gets better soon. Nothing is terribly wrong with my life, yet I am sitting in my room moping about the fact that my skin looks like crap and my perpetual stomachache is preventing me from leaving the house to run errands. Take solace in the fact that one day, when awful things are actually happening in my life, I'll look back on my younger self and realize what a shallow idiot I was.
Sincerely,
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)