Type Faster

No one has ever applauded me at a meeting.

That is probably because I make a point to avoid them. I mean how the hell should I know how meetings work? I don’t go.

[Note to self: Look this up on Google. Meetings/applause/frequency.]

Generally, I don’t get it.

What is the point of sending an agenda with the updates, only to go to a meeting and have someone  read the same bullet points to me in-person?

That is like someone sending me a Christmas card in the mail and then coming to my house to read it to me?

Umm…

Anyway, back to the applause. The client literally used the words “freakin’ awesome” to describe my work [which I am no longer allowed to call mine because it implies that I did it, but I will get back to that in a second.]

The point is the client never gives any compliments, especially so over-the-top.

Hence the applause.

It – the applause – was just surreal, in general.

[Note to self: Check to see if the water has been doused with hallucinogenic drugs? Perhaps they thought I was Brad Pitt…]

“So now you decide to come to a meeting,” someone bellowed with precise comedic timing. And we all laughed a big belly laugh like forever.

Hm… something is wrong?

[Note to self: Check to see if I am on drugs. I just laughed with my coworkers. Commence massive investigation. Stat.]

But like all good farts, it ended. And then, there was just the smelly aftermath.

Like this…

I was called into a meeting the same day. [Honestly, don’t you people have work to do?!]

“You know, you really shouldn’t take credit for the work [MY WORK?!] Everyone contributes and it makes other people feeeeeeeel bad,” BitchX implored. “You should have thanked everyone who contributed…”

Like I was getting an Oscar or something.

You know who really contributes?

My therapist and my friends [they are the only reason bitches are not being told to fuck off – in those words – this very second].

So let’s get it straight…

A) I have no control over spontaneous applause. If I did, I would turn that shit on every time I was naked. Not at fucking work.

B) I don’t come to work for validation – of any kind. I would be miserable every day. I come to work for money and stuff [benefits, blah, blah, blah.] That is it. To me, applause without money at work is called noise.

C) Are you CRAZY?! This is not my life. Work is the place that interrupts my life. I have a life – as solitary and uneventful as it is. It is mine and I like it.

D) Insecure people annoy me. Get help. And I don’t mean a manicure. That is a sad way to live.

Not sad because these passive-aggressive wingnuts are infuriating to no end

Because all of the energy they put into tearing down people

They could re-channel into building themselves up.

Anyway, that was so last week. Fastforward to now…

BitchX keeps inviting me to meetings only to tell everyone who asks me a question, “You know she doesn’t do it [my job] alone” or “every decision made is a group decision.” IN A MEETING?! [That I would pay money not to go to. Cold hard cash, dude.]

Seriously, I was two seconds away from taking off my shoes and earrings, putting Vaseline on my face – to go LL Cool J on her 56-year-old, clearly-needing-therapy ass.

I couldn’t put my finger on why the fart aftermath was still lingering this week. And then, at 2 AM this morning… I remembered the applause.

Duh.

I never think of this stuff. I mean who cares who gets what at work [I just want to go home.]

And that’s how “these people” work – not work people…

And not really jealous people. This kind of effort to undermine is deep-rooted like a tree. I don’t really know the word. I just know their crazy people hair-trigger is completely inscrutable and unpredictable. Like they just snap!

And they just want your shit, even if it’s lame.

It doesn’t have to be anything cool – LIKE MONEY. [Did I not say I come to this shithole for money?!]

It just has to be something they feel is lacking in their own life.

Really. It could be anything. A cool breeze. A dirty tissue. A toothpick. Anything.

They will always crank out the same whining like little predictable machines…

First, they will tell you don’t deserve it in the nicest tone over. It will be like you are getting a very confusing blowjob – because they are kicking and cooing at you at the same time. “Whyyyyyyyy do you have a bigger cool breeze, dirty tissue, and toothpick than meeeeeee?,” they all inevitably whine.

Then, they will try to break you.

If you let them.

Trust me, my door is closed today.

The only thing that matters in this whole story is that BitchX has me all fired up to finish my first book. They do say people come into your life [and I will add – finally reveal themselves] for a purpose.

Her purpose is to inspire me to type faster.

I was gonna go to my therapist to exhale – but I kinda like being fired up. It makes me uber-productive. I am cranking this blog out in 60 minutes [including a bathroom and water break – and y’all know that is some kind of record. Alert the presses!]

Let me tell you a short story.

One you probably already know…

I grew up with a sociopath. I grew up poor. People thought I was mute because I was shy. Worthless because I was poor. Limited because I was a girl.

And I always had to prove them wrong. Always.

By getting fired up [and by  that, I mean pissed off.]

History has been changed for the good  many times over – just because of a few pissed off folks.

And that is what BitchX does not know.

Something I have proven over and over again throughout my life.

I don’t fucking break.

I only get stronger.

And unlike some people who have know idea how to re-channel their insecurity or jealously or [in my case] anger – into something proactive and productive [for myself],

I’ve been doing that shit since I was eight.

That’s called a long resume, asswipe.

Proving people wrong is what I do for recreation.

So you are all up in my wheelhouse now.

And that’s exactly the wrong place to be.

As poet and cultural spirit guide, Honey Boo Boo Child, would say, “You better redneckonize.”

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