Workplace Bullies

I know this is crazy, but check it out: http://gbr.pepperdine.edu/014/bullies.html

For those of you too lazy to read the above article, I will copy and paste some of the things I found pertinent in this article.

"Because bullies are cowards and are driven by deep-seated insecurities and fears of inadequacy, they intentionally wage a covert war against an organization's best employees - those who are highly-skilled, intelligent, creative, ethical, able to work well with others, and independent (who refuse to be subservient or controlled by others).3"

Manipulators:

Interested only in themselves.
Easily threatened and vindictive.
Experts at lying, deceiving and betraying.
Take credit for the work of others.
Never take responsibility for their own "errors."

To top it off ... read this part:

The Gatekeeper
Purposefully cuts the targeted person out of the communication loop.
Ignores the targeted individual or gives that person the "silent treatment."
Models isolation or exclusion of the targeted person for others.

Now if you know ANYTHING about my job, at all, you know this is exactly what I experience daily - without a physical barrier from a person who sits, literally, eighteen inches away. If you think all that negative energy is not affecting me, (nick r.) think about how it feels when your wife is angry at you and you are stuck in the car on a long drive. Uncomfortable, right?

Of course it is! If you have any level of sensitivity at all, you are perceptive of others' emotions. Which means, basically, that you can feel when someone is upset with you and that your body is receptive to their negative energy.

In other news, workplace bullying has the following side effects:

"[including but not limited to] damage to their self-esteem and confidence, anxiety, depression, gastrointestinal disorders, headaches, insomnia, exhaustion, poor concentration, and substance abuse.23"

Currently I am not protected under law, but soon I will be. Not to say that I will sue or anything stupid like that, but it certainly is making a serious case for a reduction of work hours if not medical leave.

We shall see how he responds to my three day work week request.

Movie Day

Once every four to six months, Evan and I will sit in our pajamas, unshowered and greasy, pig out all day on whatever we want, and watch movies for hours straight.

Today we watched three episodes of Farscape, Hidalgo, Hell Boy, and Love Actually.

I ate:

honey nut cheerios plus a banana
chili and cornbread
1.5 cokes
juice
grapes
kettle corn popcorn
1.5 tamales
beans
guacamole
chips


An excellent day, but now it is time for a shower.

I'm just a girl

It's 9:05 in the morning, and I've been sitting in traffic for 22 minutes. I'm sitting in the back passenger seat of a turquoise 600E Mercedes that's probably older than me. It smells like seasoned leather that's baked in the sun for over a decade, and has litter strewn in the back seat. I found a book on the floor called, "The Successful Investor", but I'm gathering the person who read it has yet to invest successfully. The gentleman driving the beater car has curly gray hair, sagging skin, and glasses. He rests his foot on the brakes while we wait in traffic, and the car makes a horrible scraping noise and shakes a little. It's extremely stuffy in the smelly leather car, but I can't open my window because the electronic button doesn't work.

When we first saw the back up of cars, a mile from my house, I said to the gentleman driving the car, "Do you know about the 880 detour?" He replied that yes, he was aware of it, but, "if you don't mind, I think I'll just stay here and try and be clever." The 880 detour is a ten minute route to the bay bridge that allows you to avert all traffic at the base of the maze . It's infintely superior to sitting in traffic for 40 minutes. I think maybe the gentleman driving doesn't know what the word "clever" means. He dismisses my suggestion much like he dismissed his fancy investment book and turns to Evan. "I'll do whatever you guys say I should do," he says, implying he's interested in both our opinions, but as I just stated mine, I find this hard to believe. "You could try that way [the 880 detour] if you like," Evan replies softly without conviction, which is strange considering he needs to be at work in 11 minutes.

We finally make it to the foot of the Bay Bridge, around 9:15. After surveying the quickly moving carpool lanes, and the rest of the bridge traffic, the gentleman says, "I'm not sure it would have been any faster to go that way," to which Evan agrees. What universe am I in here? Does this man not realize that the 880 detour lets you hop right onto the carpool lane?! I'm seething. My pores are oozing frustration and anger at this insipid human being.

My personal thought is that this gentleman did NOT have the slightest clue as to how to take the 880 detour and, more importantly, he didn't want to listen to a girl. Especially a girl in red pants and blue sneakers.

Grrrr.

Evan forgot to pick me up from Bart

As in until I called him to remind him I was there.

Even though the previous conversation occurred like this:

"So, my teacher let's us out at 8:50 and the train comes at 8:58. I'll be there whenever the train gets there, usually around 9:15 or so. MacArthur Bart, right?"

"Okay then, I'll be there at 9:15."

"Don't get there too early, otherwise you might get jumped."

"Okay, then I'll get there at 9:20"

"Then *I'll* get jumped."

"Okay weirdo, it's not that bad. I'll be there at 9:15."

"Okay, bye."

I called him at 9:35 and he answered the phone casually, as though he was carefully sipping a glass of red wine while relaxing and watching television. After smelling his breath, I am convinced this is *exactly* what he was doing. Turns out, he forgot about aforementioned conversation completely.

WTF?!

Who the fuck forgets to pick up someone they love? It's stuff like this that makes me worry that he might be a very bad parent and leave his kids in the car in 105 degree heat so they boil internally.

He's kind of on my shit list right now, although everyone will be extremely happy to know I didn't even sort of-kind of-try and yell at him.

I remained calm the whole time.

Yay me, Boo Evan.

:(

Doh!!

I missed The Gilmore Girls season preview last night!!

Argh! Netflix distracted me.

At least I can watch it again on Sunday Easy-View or whatever.

Man.

Posting Lag Time.

Honestly, some days I will click on the link to come here and wonder why there aren't any new posts for me to laugh at.

Then, I remember it's because I'm lazy, or busy, and haven't had time to post.

Duh, Jocelyn, Duh.

Living in the ghetto

Means that people who own cars like you to know it. So they remove their muffler and then they drive as fast as they can right by your bedroom window at all hours of the night. It's been hot lately and we've been sleeping with the window open ...

So basically, just when your body is completely relaxed, and your mouth is slack with a hint of drool wanting to come out, and you are about to have some great dream, some asshole totally wakes you up because his non-muffler is so loud. It scares me and I have to try and get back to sleep.

And every night I think about typing this post, but I am too tired.

Right now I'm tired too. Time for some sleep and acupressure.

Guess I'll be missing work again

but seriously, do not blame Klaus - at least not directly.

I seem to have given myself an ear infection while laying on the nasty ass shower floor to relieve nausea from the migraine while I was showering.

It gets hot in that bathroom, even with the door open, fan on, and shower door cracked to allow fresh air flow. The lay down seemed optimum - let me relax, listen to the noise of the water, and envision the potentialities of dying a shallow water death before 30. What's a girl to do? Besides, some of you might be aware that my judgement is seriously impaired when I have a migraine. I actually said GW was the lesser of two evils recently.

Sometime yesterday, when my ear started to hurt, I thought it was because I'd jammed Evan's super cool ear plugs deeper than I was supposed to. Or maybe my ear was aching because I was sleeping on Mike's conical ear plugs that don't have much flexibility? Either way, I thought it was an earplug situation, not a nasty ass bacteria in my ear, diminishing my hearing.

Migraine sufferers understand nausea, like they understand Thai soup, but after my third squirt of nasal spray, the headache was totally gone. Yippee! So why did I wake up nauseas at 1:15am? 3:15am? And why did I continually wake up tugging on my ear like a disgruntled toddler?

I decided some investigating was in order. Got me a hot compress and tried to blow my nose. Hot compress = good. Blowing nose = does god really need to inflict such pain? Holy jeezo that hurt.

So of course I woke Evan up, because that's just what the poor man needed.

"Ow. My ear hurts. I think I have an ear infection from laying down in the shower."

Of course that's why - I already told him I refused to bathe in the tub because it's too dirty. Now answer me this, if you won't put your 'giner in harms' way, why the hell would you put your EAR there? These are the questions about me that keep you all coming back wondering how the hell I possibly make it through each day.

"Sorry babe," he mumbles, trying to be sweet but really just being tired. It is 3:15 am.

"Do you have any garlic oil?" Still trying to be nice and even on-topic. Yay Evan.

"No, you made me throw it out when we moved," which is true, but damn, boy was sleeping.

"Oh. Sorry. Did you put a hot compress on it yet?"

"Yeah, I'm doing that right now."

Anyone who has ever used a hot compress must know that you have to reheat it every 4 minutes or so. It's blisteringly hot when you remove it from the microwave (or the water faucet at my house) and when it's cool enough to apply you have approximately 45 seconds of relief before it needs to be heated up again.

I played the I'm-really-fine-and-still-going-to-work-tomorrow-even-though-I-haven't-slept-well-and-can't-forsee-sleeping-anytime-in-the-near-future
game for a while. But finally I just got up and addressed the situation.

I'm still addressing it an hour later. Still can't hear, still tugging at the ear like an infant, but now I am drinking peppermint-echinacea tea, which helps nausea, and I took a compazine which also helps.

I'm waiting until my body collapses and I fall back asleep OR the healthfood store opens and I can buy some crap to treat my ear. It still hurts like an SOB to blow out my right nostril, but for the love of my ear, I will persist.

I think maybe watching Office Space was a bad idea this week. How long would it take them before they just fire me for not coming in?

Yesterday Evan and I discussed me cutting back to working 3 days per week once he gets hired on. I think that would be good. Then I would have ample time for other important things, like searching for a real job, and doing yoga to maintain my migraine situation.

Gah. I guess the good news is I can hit up Funky Door or the place Algin teaches for my bikram this week. That, and if I miss work I can justifiably miss school and do some homework I missed from this weekend. There is always a silver lining, my friend, you just have to know where to look.

It's so boring right now. Maybe Cartoon Network is playing re-runs of He-Man back when He-Man was good. Like before She-Ra.

Not to keep you people in the dark or anything,

but I'm not going to post about my migraine, or my doctor visit, or new drugs, or spreadsheets, or anything like that.

It would feel too freaky to have all my medical stuff right out here in the open.

For those of you that are concerned or curious, or whatever, you know I'll spill it if you ask, and you also know I won't be upset if you don't.

I am feeling better thanks to a new thing my doc tried, and should see continual improvement over the next few months.

I'm safe and taking the necessary steps to get things under control, so don't worry about me.

Another Migraine

Jocelyn is currently dying of another migraine. I believe she's at the doctor's office today. When she returns she might tell us stories about her fabulous weekend and pretending like her headache wasn't really that bad so she could ride rides all day on saturday at great america.

Corned Beef and Tuna?

A traditional Reuben sandwich has the following ingredients:
(items are listed in order of importance to me)


Corned Beef
Sauerkraut
Russian Dressing (Thousand Island)
Swiss Cheese
Rye Bread
Onion - optional

Yet today I experience a Reuben on a completely different level. Since we finally had a long lunch hour together, Tom suggested we eat at
Sears Fine Food for lunch, and even though Liz had Trader Joe's tamales, and I had a lean cuisine, we both thought going out would taste better.

I perused the menu, which as you can see has a wide selection. Then I saw the following, which is not displayed on the on-line menu:

Grilled Reuben Sandwich - original recipe from Nebraska! Fresh Sauerkraut daily!

And I couldn't resist.

When my Rueben came, it looked utterly delicious. The swiss cheese was melted past the bread into a coagulated pools of cheesy goodness, the corned beef was hanging out the sides of the rye bread - holy goodness was about to be experienced in my mouth. I was dripping with expectation, and so was my reuben.

As I bit into the crispy rye bread expecting a sensation of wonderful flavors to explode in my mouth, I noticed something was lacking, some flavor was missing. In fact, the sandwich tasted bland. Peering intently at my sandwichy goodness, I saw Tuna Fish? What the fuck?! Who puts tuna fish on a Reuben Sandwich?!?

I received a quizzical look from the waitress when I asked for some sauerkraut, and when it came on the side, I understood.

They pre-mix the russian dressing with the sauerkraut so that it looks like a pink shifty blob, just like tuna salad.

Apparently someone scooped the wrong stuff on to my Rueben. Never one to be fussy about food, I added some sauerkraut to my tuna, and gobbled the sandwich up. It was still pretty darn good even though I'm pretty sure it doesn't come like that in Nebraska.

The Left Handed Thing (again)

So a few weekends ago I was at the lovely Greek Theatre at UC Berkeley, melting in the sun before being let in to see Matt Nathanson, Guster, Howie Day, and O.A.R, when suddenly The Beer Bracelet Guy stopped by to bless me with my beer bracelet.

Being left handed, I of course hold out my left hand so the bracelet will not rub against my watch, on my right hand.

He looks me square in the eye. "Right hand, please."
Annoyed, I switch hands and whine, "But it will mess with my watch because they rub together."

To my surprise and delight, friend Maren chimes in with, "She's doing that because she's left handed, you know." Yay, Maren, yay.

Beer Bracelet Guy smiles and says, "You know, there's a lot of lefties here today."

Hah! I knew it!

"That's because we are slowly coming back to steal the world from all of you Righties," I reply in my best evil-genius voice.

Again, we make eye contact and he says, "You know what's weird? All of them have been saying the same thing!"

"That's because it's true."

He chuckled and walked away, but I think I gave him a good scare.

A Cranky Morning

I was beyond tired this morning, and very cranky with my sweet fiance knowels (thank you, carly, for that wonderful phrase) who only wanted me to love on him.

Here's an excerpt from an email to Ericka:


yes, i am excited for the weekend ... maybe that's why i am in such a good mood today, despite stinky's stupid ways and my boring ass job. i am excited that in basically a year i will be married to a wonderful man who loves me enough to let me hog the water in the shower on really grumpy tired days, and lets me stick my tongue out at him as a response to "I love you and you are beautiful".
(it was a cranky morning for me today)

I'm a very lucky woman. Thanks, Evan, for tolerating my broken spirit in the morning and never giving up on me even when I ask for it. I am excited to share a life with you and glad to have you by my side through it all.

Kathy Bates

was never scarier or more convincing than when she played Annie in Misery.

It's amazing that even on Spike that movie is still compelling and horrific, commerical breaks and all.

Khaya's Story

Dave and I entered the Togo's in Walnut Creek ravenous, as usual. We'd probably just come from cross country practice or were goofing around after school. I intensely needed a pastrami foot long from Togo's, so he obliged me.

Standing in line I noticed one of the ponytailed Togo's girls holding a furry ball in her green apron. A mewing, teeny, furry ball that was unhappy. A Puppy!

I approached Ponytail Girl, the fifteen year old (I was seventeen, and that's so much older) and asked to hold the writhing ball that wouldn't stop crying. Relieved, the girl passed the pup on to me and it was love at first sight. This dog was a poof of black and brown, with markings like a Rotweiler or Doberman, but soft poofy fur. We made eye contact and I held the small, warm being. Instantaneously she dozed in my arms.

Ponytail girl turned to me and said, "Wow. You've got to take the dog. We found her outside here yesterday and you are the first person she's liked. You *have* to take her because I don't know what to do with her anymore,"

"I can't. We aren't allowed to have pets," I smiled in the knowledge that this doggy liked me better than it liked her.

When I returned the ball of love to Ponytail Girl, I instantly felt loss, but I couldn't take her, could I? There was always Dave's smelly beagle, Murphy, that I could pet and love on.

The puppy began crying again and my mission was clear! I had to take the beautiful sweet puppy home with me! I had to.

Pappy would understand ... afterall, wasn't it Pappy who used to pick up strays when we found them on the street? Yes! Like the brief moment when we had Spot the Labrador who liked to snooze with her body in the pool and her face on the cool deck in Phoenix. And there was Candy, the collie from the pound.

Of course Pappy would understand.

I gathered my courage and opened my arms, gathering up the puppy, who returned to her napping.

"Dave, do you think my dad will kill me?"
"No, he loves animals - besides that dog is so cute that NOBODY could say no to her."

My pastrami sandwich had to ride on the floor, in the bag, because I was bonding with my new dog. Dave's Jeep Cherokee sped away to his house where we could talk it over with his dad to figure out the best way to drop the bomb.

I named her Khaya before we finished the five minute drive to his house. Dave's dad, Emmett, liked her right away but made it clear he wouldn't take her if Pappy said no. He already had a dog who might mess up the white leather sofa, and he certainly didn't need anymore barking.

Bravely I took Khaya to my house, knowing that Pappy wouldn't be home for a few hours. Covering my entire bedroom floor in newspaper, I prepared myself for the ensuing battle with Pappy.

The front door creaked open.

"I have a surprise for you, Daddy!" I shouted, using my best baby-girl voice ever.
"What?" he replied in his grumpy working voice.
"Up here!"

With a deep scowl, he appraised Khaya and I.

"Daddy, I found her at Togo's and NO ONE would take her. We have to- "
"I'm going on a business trip. We'll talk about this on Monday."

Ha! I was victorious!!! I knew he would cave if that sweet furry thing so much as licked his hand.

My father and I both agree that Khaya is the best dog either of us has ever had, and trust me, we have had plenty of dogs. One time we had two dozen blue tick hounds because they were breeding incessantly.

She's smart, beautiful, and kind, characteristics a lot of humans don't possess. She's feisty, stubborn, and refuses to be fenced in.

When I was living at home and going to community college, I would come home from class around 3pm and find Khaya, wet and panting, waiting outside the garage for me to let her inside. She would get out of the house, run a half mile to the park to terrorize the geese and swim. Fantastic!

When I got really sick and didn't want to get out of bed, Khaya would lay at the foot of the bed on the floor, and she wouldn't eat or drink or move until she knew that I was okay.

Best damn dog ever.

My dog has a brain tumor

and I fell down the stairs tonight.

This night sucks.

At least I'm going up to visit her next weekend.

Baby Ruth

Right now I am eating my first candy bar in a long, long time.

I can't even remember the last time I ate an entire candy bar, much less a full size Baby Ruth. It's pretty good, I guess, but too sweet and too peanutty.

Why then do I continue to eat it as though it were freeze dried ice cream?

I don't know.

I think because I can't get full today and I have no more lunch or money. It was just staring at me under the hot bulb of the display case. Honestly, candy bars are not even that good ... it just tasted like sweetened cardboard peanuts, but still I ate almost every last morsel until I tossed the last bite into the garbage can.

PMS has hit me and I even tried to get a migraine, but I took a fancy pill (so far they are working) and now I am more groggy than I was this morning, minus the headache.

It's hard to blog when you are have that drug induced haze pulling your eyes shut. I must go now.

Wandering through Leavitt Meadow

was the way I spent my Labor Day holiday.

We left our house at 6:22 on Friday morning, much to my chagrin. It took Evan a lot of persuasion and promises of breakfast and coffee to rouse me.

Arrived at the Leavitt Meadow Campground around 10:24 and dressed in our backpacking gear. With food and water my pack weighed nearly 40 lbs, but I was still raring to go. With nervous anticipation we waited for the rest of our party and ended up leaving the campground at about 1:30 or so due to some logistical malfunctions.

Hiked out to Secret Lake - about 3 miles. Stopped and set up camp, which is considerably harder than I remember. At least it was that day. Cooked a delicious ready pak meal of Chili Mac with Beef! It was one of the best meals on the whole trip.

Freeze dried meals are not as bad as everyone says, especially if you let them cook in the pouch a few minutes longer than recommended. That, and a little Tapatillo sauce never hurts anything.

Saturday we hiked 6 miles to this little crappy pond of a lake called, Hidden Lake. Despite hiking uphill on pack trails, inhaling dust that smelled like horse poo, and literally choking on the grit kicked up by my comrades boots, I was looking forward to arriving at Hidden Lake. Disappointment set in as soon as I found a suitable campsite and Evan wanted to keep hiking for something better, which didn't exist. The land was crawling with big black ants that wanted to share my salami and cheese snack, along with horse flies that took me back to 555 Oakland Avenue.

The worst part was that the lake was ugly. Piddly, in fact. And hard to access.

Sunday we did a 4-5 mile day hike up to Fremont Lake which was well worth the once again uphill dusty grimy horse poo pack trail. It was gorgeous and huge. This is the point in the trip where I realized I'd been shooting up a camera that had no film in it. I was angry and frustrated, but managed to keep my spirit up by helping Evan pump water and eating lunch.

Monday we hiked out about 6 miles and Evan and I both ran out of water and had to hike the last two dusty miles in blazing heat without shade. That part sucked, but the hike was easy so I didn't complain too much.

I'm pretty tired though.

Due to my clumsy nature, I have a few scrapes and bruises some of which I will elaborate on later.

Hope everyone had a fabulous weekend.

Hunting?

Something has been nagging at me lately, ever since a conversation over a growler of California Uncommon with my good friend Nick at Pyramid Brewery.

He asked me if I would ever consider hunting for sport. We were talking about guns and how I fired a gun (okay, I forget again what kind it was) when I shot clay pigeons with Adam and his family. My first time ever I did better than Adam's twin brother, Brian, who's fiercely competitive. It was awesome!

I really enjoyed it. The power, the success, the getting to watch an inanimate object get blown to smithereens by my hand. All of it.

Many people who hunt for sport eat the meat and share with their friends. I've eaten elk, deer, and venison, although I can't honestly tell you what the difference is. It's certainly healthier than eating corn fed cows that sit in their own filth until they are shipped to a local Safeway though.

The dilemma is that I liked firing that gun, and I love eating meat, so it would make sense to correlate those activities. For all I know I would enjoy killing something. I kind of doubt it, but I can't say for sure until I do it, right?

I don't believe in killing most things that are smaller than me, as long as they are innocuous, and I do take bugs outside when I can. But then again, I don't EAT bugs (although truthfully, I'd consider it if they were raised right, like on the Discovery Channel shows).

Outdoor activities are becoming more important to me, as is simplifying my life. What's more simple and base than killing your own meat?

So I guess if anyone is putting together a hunting trip and would like to buy me an orange vest and teach me the ropes, I might be up to try.

But there better be beer afterwards because I might cry too, especially if I cause the animal pain. Skinning is also out of the question - I need to go somewhere and pay them to do that for me.

I don't got shit to do ...

I don't got shit to do.

And I don't mean that in a "Woe-is-me-I'm-so-bored-at-work" way. I'm dancing a silent jig of Jocelyn-(dorky)-happiness.

There's no Stinky, no Boss, nobody but Hygienist, Maria, and myself. And I think we might go out to lunch and have a drink today. Wahoo!

Also, I forgot to tell you guys that Evan and I are sponsoring a little girl from Guatemala. Her name is Heidy Marisol Esperanza Equita and she's going to be 6 in November. I have a very cute picture of her on my fridge.

Back in the 80's companies like this were renowned for diverting funds from naive-but-guilty-feeling Americans like myself, so let me explain a little about it to quell your fears that some white guy in Texas is renting Blockbuster DVD's with my $18/month.

I'll insert links later because I've honestly forgotten the name of the company, however I thoroughly reviewed their full financial statement last week and learned that they only use 20% of the funding for operating costs. This means that 80% of the money goes to the children and their families. This does not mean that $14.40 goes to my little girl in cash, but that this company provides her with medical and dental treatment, clothing and shoes, tuition and books, as well as food, toys and other necessities.

If I want to contribute more, I could help buy her a bed so she doesn't have to share with her brothers. If I don't, that's my prerogative.

Local citizens will teach her family about nutrition and help them buy food to prepare healthy meals. Medical and dental exams will be given on a routine basis and those will also be performed by licensed local folk. They will teach my little girl courses in leadership and possibly business (if she wants) when she's older.

The entire program is designed to help Heidy fulfill her basic needs so she can pursue an education and ultimately make a better life for her family.

Also, it's not some Sally Struthers "God is with the Children" program. They aren't religiously affiliated.

It's very exciting, and I can visit Heidy and her family if I ever decide to visit Guatemala.