Choosy Beggar

A self-indulgent tribute to accomplishing as little as possible and then complaining about it.

Tuesday, April 17, 2007

The Final Countdown

As I usher in the end of an era, I wipe a single tear from my misty eyes. While emptying out my desk, I reflect on my time at The Company and wonder, "How the hell will I ever stop laughing? My stomach is killing me."

Oh yes, such is the happiness that has infected me. I can feel the grin stretching my face and it's as if tiny little elves of joy have thrown grappling hooks into the sides of my cheeks and are currently making their way up my body, bringing laughter and good feeling to all parts.

I have approximately 3.5 days left at this asylum for the socially inept. And man is it gratifying to know that soon the dour and gloomy patrons of this soul destroying environment will be eating my dust. Feast on my contempt you monkeys.

The final chapter of my entire experience working here concludes with a bang as I recently discovered that approximately 6 (count 'em, six!) of my colleagues have also resigned. Granted, they work in a completely different section of the company, but still - SIX in one go. This place is obviously charming the socks off of everyone here.

So all that's left to do is to look forward to a more fulfilled and respectable future. One which doesn't include having grisly fantasies about the various ways to murder one's colleagues / bosses during a staff meeting.

The Final Countdown

As I usher in the end of an era, I wipe a single tear from my misty eyes. While emptying out my desk, I reflect on my time at The Company and wonder, "How the hell will I ever stop laughing? My stomach is killing me."

Oh yes, such is the happiness that has infected me. I can feel the grin stretching my face and it's as if tiny little elves of joy have thrown grappling hooks into the sides of my cheeks and are currently making their way up my body, bringing laughter and good feeling to all parts.

I have approximately 3.5 days left at this asylum for the socially inept. And man is it gratifying to know that soon the dour and gloomy patrons of this soul destroying environment will be eating my dust. Feast on my contempt you monkeys.

The final chapter of my entire experience working here concludes with a bang as I recently discovered that approximately 6 (count 'em, six!) of my colleagues have also resigned. Granted, they work in a completely different section of the company, but still - SIX in one go. This place is obviously charming the socks off of everyone here.

So all that's left to do is to look forrward to a more fulfilled and respectable future. One which doesn't include having grisly fantasies about the various ways to murder one's colleagues / bosses during a staff meeting.

Thursday, March 15, 2007

Pour Myself a Cup of Ambition

Have you ever had one of those dreams where Wentworth Miller has declared his undying love for you and you find yourself co-habiting with him in the Malibu mansion he bought as a celebration of your love, sipping Cristal and being fed bon bons? And when you wake up you feel cheated out of the incredible bliss you so obviously deserve.

Well, that's how I feel at the moment, except that I haven't yet woken up from the glee that I'm experiencing as a result of quitting my job at The Company. I feel like I'm floating around in a state of semi-dementia as I realise that my life is about to change so much for the better. I've managed to land myself what could only be described as 'a dream job', working in an industry that actually excites and motivates me.

I will no longer be subjected to painfully boring morning meetings where arrogant suits discuss how much money the company is making and devise strategies on how to finagle the clients and get their grubby little paws on more...MORE.

I will no longer have to listen to the banal lunch conversations that I have been subjected to for the last 14 months.

I won't have to retch into my dustbin at the blatant display of ass-licking that goes on in this place.

Never again will I have to work on a project that is so boring it makes me want to push my clutch pencil through my eye and swirl my brain around.

No more will I have to do all the work while some enterprising account manager takes all the credit.

There is not one shred of sadness or remorse, only pure unadulterated happiness towards the knowledge that I will soon be shutting the door on this chapter of my life.

2007 - I knew you'd be a goodie.
Roll on the good times.

Friday, March 02, 2007

Once More, With Feeling

I haven't really been feeling the whole blog vibe lately, have reverted back to the ways of our forefathers and made use of pen and paper. Completely un-techy and conducive to wrist ache. But I have some time on my hands this morning (well, by "time on my hands" I naturally mean "felt like slacking off") so thought I'd post something...anything.

It seems that perhaps my blog was originally about complaining about...well...everything. I'm not really struggling to make any sense of my life - I seem to have settled into a calm comfortable place that only calls for the occasional hissy fit. Ok, reading through that I realise that I sound like a drugged up zombie; kidnapped by the government and subjected to mind control so that I become a maniacal killer as soon as I hear the special password.

I'll snap out of that, shall I?

So. What's been happening with me...Obviously everyone thinks that their own life is uninteresting (well, with the obvious exclusion of Britney Spears who clearly thinks that the magic bubbles in her vodka and coke are whispering the secrets of Atlantis to her) so I'm not sure where to start. Still with New Guy who really isn't so new anymore but an absolute sweetie nonetheless. Still work for the Company who continue to take the proverbial piss so I'm actually actively looking for alternative employment. Have moved to my own little place - a small one-bed apartment all my own. Dirty dishes be damned! Manky floors - so what? It's great.

'Twas my birthday a week ago and I had a really fun party at the bowls club - because that's how I roll, homey. It was interesting to put a whole lot of different groups of friends together in one place and see them get on and meet one another and get partying. It was a blast and I got some choice gifts as well. Had the most fun putting together a birthday CD with all the hits from 1982 (year of our lady's birth) to 2007. Had to combine some truly special 80's classics with the embarrassing 90's pop that we all know and love (Ice Ice Baby, anyone?).

And so this has been my first week of being 25. I'm a grown-up now. I should be investing in property and having dinner parties and wearing mink stoles or something. Wait...sorry...I just jumped back in time to the 1930s. It seems that my generation are taking the longest to settle down and actually do those things - everyone's so restless, so acutely aware that there may be something better out there - be it in our careers, our relationships or our finances. Personally, I blame reality television - giving hope to the countless untalented plebs in the world who actually believe that they might have some divinely alloted gift that could deliver them from the hell of their mediocrity, like the hand of God plucking them straight out of their trailer park and repositioning them in their Hollywood Hills mansion. And my favourite part of all these shows is when the winner gushes about how they always knew that they were destined for greatness - like anyone would actually admit that they're completely shocked that they haven't ended up as an assistant fry cook at Uncle Jumbo's Chicken Emporium.

Tuesday, December 05, 2006

All by myself

I've never been shy to go to movies by myself or take myself for coffee. In fact, there are times when I prefer to do these things alone as I find myself incredibly good company. Nobody understands me like me. I have a running joke with a mate overseas that I don't DO company as most people annoy the living crap out of me. All these people with their 'opinions' and their 'conversation' and their general ignorance. Bah humbug. If I'm given half a chance, these unsuspecting (and usually well-meaning) individuals inevitably wind up on the business end of a sarcastic insult. Not my fault, I swear. I am a veritable bucket of enthusiasm and I love socialising, but it must be with people who have bothered to learn how to string a sentence together. Call me elitist, but I don't see why I should be polite when faced with idiot ramblings like, "did you know that Marie Antoinette didn't actually say "let them eat cake"?" or "did you know, even though he painted like that, Picasso was actually a very good artist?". Wow guy, I too read those chappie papers when I was like, eleven. Thanks for anointing me with this precious blessing of your knowledge so that I may go forward and prosper in the crazy maze of trivia we call life.

But I digress...

The reason I was talking about enjoying my own company is because I have clearly reached the point where it looks like I am perpetually alone. I went for dinner recently (with a certain someone, I'll have you know) and as I arrived at the door to the restaurant where we were meeting, the maitre d' smiled at me sympathetically and stated "table for one". She already had the lone menu in her hand and was about to usher me to the darkest table in the corner of the restaurant so that the rest of the patrons wouldn't be subjected to my ugly display of solitude. Why even guess at that kind of thing, lady? That's as bad as seeing a larger woman and saying, "so when's that baby due?". Don't assume that I'm flying solo here buddy. There are various men kicking down various doors all over this here city for the chance to hang with me! Got it??? What irks me is that she just seemed so damn sure! You can imagine the icy glare she found herself faced with after I had managed to stop blushing and stuttering about meeting someone on the b-b-b-b-b-balcony.

Still, I have to wonder; maybe my mother put her up to it.

Thursday, November 23, 2006

Promiscuous Boy

Is everyone else aware of the fact that Ryk Neethling seems to be hocking his body left right and centre lately? Celebrity endorsement has taken off in this country in a big way and Ryk is definitely reaping the financial benfits. I had no problem with the Lays, USN and even the Yogi Sip spots. Audi and Tag Heuer were logical choices as everyone loves a winner and what better way to flog your product than to have it draped over a hunky Olympic gold medal winner? Oh that Ryk, with his cheeky smile and the seductive look in his eyes…he could sell microwaves to Amish women.

But I have to protest the giant billboard on the corner of William Nicol and Republic that has this Adonis of a man scantily clad (as per usual) and up to his navel in Jenna Clifford jewellery. This is blatantly Jenna Clifford’s way of publicising her own wet dream of one day owning a pocket-sized Ryk with whom she can have her dirty kugel way. It’s obvious that she knew that the only way she was ever going to see Ryk naked was to make up this farce of an ad campaign and pay him a truckload of cash to dive out of his tidy whiteys.

Look, I’m a red-blooded woman and I like thinking of Ryk feeding me Lays crisps as much as the next girl but this is a bit pathetic. What does jewellery have to do with swimming? It’s not like you ever see Ryk pimpin’ it with his macked out bling. It’s just not a logical reference. And Jesus wept, Ryk, put it away! If I ever manage to slip that rufey into your drink and get you back to my place, the mystery is gone – every bloody woman in SA has seen you sans clothing. It’s just not exciting anymore. Whenever I see pictures of you wearing clothes it’s like seeing a polar bear in the desert – it don’t make no sense.

Monday, November 13, 2006

Looney Tunes

I recently broke off a friendship of about five or so years because I couldn’t handle the utter neediness of said ‘friend’. It’s a long and whacky story and Choosy’s in the mood to share!

I lived overseas for two years and kept in touch with a handful of my varsity mates – obviously the less interesting and more religious (read: dull) ones fell by the wayside (this is a topic for a WHOLE other blog). So when I came back I prepared to move back into my 2 bed flat which had been rented out to one of my varsity mates (let’s call her Eddie) and a friend of hers. The plan was to share the place with Eddie (chucking out random friend) and split all the bills etc. It’s a really great flat and I was excited to get back in there.

Anyhoo, all went well and we were getting on famously – I am an easy-going kinda gal and although I have a fondness for getting my own way I certainly do not consider myself argumentative or confrontational. Unless challenged – nobody puts Choosy in a corner. So we went out one night with another varsity mate, Legs, who is also a top chick and parties harder than Courtney Love on acid. Eddie, after a few drinks, decided to play the part of the grumpy, belligerent brat and proceeded to berate Legs and me for being shallow, callous slags who were clearly only interested in being friends with thin, pretty people.

Excusez-moi? Come again? Non comprendez vous … Legs and I literally laughed out loud but soon realized that that was clearly the incorrect approach to this specific problem as Eddie was starting to look like the girl from the Exorcist – I swear she was spitting green stuff…The evening ended rather badly with Legs (who I’ve never even seen raise her voice before) telling Eddie in no uncertain terms (or volume) what a pathetic creature she was and Eddie in full blown hysterics in the parking lot of Panache. Lucky me – I got to go home to tension so palpable it was basically oozing out of the walls.

The reason that what she said hurt me was because I’ve never based my friendships (or even my romantic relationships) on looks. It’s never ever occurred to me that someone would ever do that kind of thing, I mean, lordy, are there even enough decent people in this world to limit yourself to being friends with the aesthetically pleasing ones – I have a hard enough time making friends with females in general, I’m not going to go out of my way to cut more people off!

So we eventually had our first little chat about why she behaved the way she did and I got to hear all about how hard her life is and why she’s so depressed. Really? Are you? Well let me wrap you in this blankie of cotton wool and pat your head so that you don’t feel sad. Please can I protect you from the big bad world and if you feel like you need to take out your frustrations on someone can I be the first to volunteer for a good old character bashing since that seems to make you feel so much better about yourself?

But I forgave her and we moved on with our lives. She didn’t see Legs again and Legs, understandably, wasn’t interested in subjecting herself to that particular brand of crazy anymore.

Because I wanted to salvage the relationship, I invited her out one night with a group of mates from a different circle. I thought it would be nice for her to meet new people and just chill out on a Friday getting drunk at the Jolly. She proceeded to be incredibly, embarrassingly rude to all my male friends. It was cringeworthy – she was truly a social hunchback. I called her on it and asked her why she found it necessary to be so nasty – she snapped that not everyone could be like me and that sarcastic was her ‘thing’. She told me to stop telling her how to behave and stop trying to change her. I lost it. Admittedly, I lost the plot a bit – here I was, being so super nice, inviting her out for a drink with MY friends, who she had just been so unnecessarily bitchy to, and she had the cheek to tell ME where to get off? I don’t think so. I told her to stop bothering me and to go home before I said something I regretted. It was not a pretty scene, I apologise to anyone who may have been at the Jolly that night.

So, anyway, she stormed out and about half an hour later I got a call from the boyfriend of a friend who lives in the same complex as me. He told me that he needed to take Eddie to the hospital and that I should come and meet him there.

Great.

To cut a long story short (excuse the pun!) Eddie had decided to gouge two massive gashes into her arms. So much so that when my friend saw her he could actually see the muscle and the fat through the cuts. She had been tranquilized and stitched up and I drove her home in cold, grey silence. Now I understand that people in these situations need help and kindness. They need love and positive attention. But if you had been in the situation you would understand my complete fury. She had had no intention of killing herself. People who self harm usually do it in private places so that no one can see. When something like this happens, it is purely for attention. She had cut herself to teach me a lesson. To show me that I should never disagree with her or upset her because she was fragile and I was an uncaring bully. To make me feel so bad that I would grovel and plead with her to forgive me and be my friend. So that I owed her something.

Well, cupcake, I have news for you: in the inimitable words of Tyler Durden, “you are not a beautiful or unique snowflake”.

And so the began the demise of our relationship. I kept very distant from her and spent more time with my other friends.

Then one night I got a call from the same friend whose boyfriend had found her bleeding in our kitchen that night. She said that Eddie had barricaded herself under her desk at work and was refusing to come out. Yes, you read that correctly. The backstory is that she was having a full blown affair with her boss and he had eventually called it off and wanted nothing more to do with her. She had not taken this well, refusing to stop calling him and making several attempts to corner him in their boardroom after hours etc…Finally he had told her, in no uncertain terms, that it was over and to leave him alone. She proceeded to scream at him at a company function and berate him in front of passerbyers. She then fled up to her office and curled up under her desk in the foetal position. And which lucky lady got to go and coax her out from under her desk? Ding ding ding! That’s right, you guessed it – ME!

Ugh, the humiliation. So she sniffled her way home, prattling on and on about how much she loved him and why couldn’t he love her blah blah blah. Women are stronger and better than this and she was giving womankind a bad name.

The next night I came home to find papers from the sheriff stuffed under my door. She was being charged with sexual harassment. Needless to say I fled the scene and left it for her parents to deal with. After a one more month of painfully avoiding each other in an 80sq meter flat, she finally moved out.

I hear that she has a decent new job and is getting better but the point is that she let herself get to a place where nothing made sense. Where her self indulgent moping caused her more pain than accepting that life is sometimes unfair and knowing that we all have to go through some awful crap before we realize that we have the strength to pull ourselves up and get on with life and the living.

Obviously, I’m not including people who genuinely suffer from bi-polar disorder or manic depression; people who cannot logically distinguish between rational and irrational anymore. I know that there are people out there who need so much help and love and support but in this instance I felt like nothing I could do would ever be enough – she needed to believe that she had been let down so that she had a reason to behave the way she did. She just seemed more content in her misery and chose to stay that way.

I guess we’re all responsible for our own happiness and I choose a huge helping of happy please.

Thursday, November 09, 2006

I Can't Get No Satisfaction

mor‧ti‧fyPronunciation Key - [mawr-tuh-fahy] Pronunciation Key - verb, -fied, -fy‧ing.
–verb (used with object)
1. to humiliate or shame, as by injury to one's pride or self-respect.
2. to subjugate (the body, passions, etc.) by abstinence, ascetic discipline, or self-inflicted suffering.
3. Pathology. to affect with gangrene or necrosis.
–verb (used without object)
4. to practice mortification or disciplinary austerities.
5. Pathology. to undergo mortification; become gangrened or necrosed.


The mortification I recently experienced was not as a result of gangrene or necrosis, although, looking back on the experience, those are two highly preferable conditions to the one I found myself in recently.

I had made a quick trip to the supermarket to buy my monthly supply of ‘feminine hygiene products’ and was intending just to pop in, grab what I needed and hightail it home before the really arsey traffic set in. All in a day’s work.

I’m not squeamish or embarrassed about buying tampons and pads and since I’m just running in quickly, I never get a basket to carry them in – as If that would suddenly make them invisible to my fellow shoppers anyway. I like to think that by brandishing them in plain view of the rest of Pick ‘n Pay I’m doing my bit to unnerve those WASP-y neurotics you can see doing the should-I-shouldn’t-I dance with the full cream milk in the dairy section. Ah the sweet smell of arrogant feminism in the morning…

I’m a sucker for marketing so you can imagine my glee when the newest gimmick, ‘feminine fresh wipes’ for your handbag, was offered as a freebie attached to a packet of pads. “Sweet baby Jesus and the orphans – I’d better stock up on these puppies”, I thought (yes, I really do have this kind of internal monologue going on in my head) so I grabbed a few along with some boxes of tampons (I like variety).

I made my way to the till and happily plopped everything down, got out my purse and waited for the cashier to ring it all up and bag it. But what would this story be if that had happened? On another level of boring, that’s what. What actually happened was that she looked up at me with eyes wide with what might have been either fright or pity and said, “You must use all of these? Hau! Shame.”

I was gobsmacked. Was she judging my sanitary towel fetish? Did she wonder how it was possible for me to be walking if I was in such dire need of all those products? And the worst thing was (that’s a bit of a throwaway line – it was already pretty awful) she actually waited for an answer. It wasn’t rhetorical, she was fully prepared to have a conversation about my menstrual cycle right there at the till point. What was I supposed to say? “Better safe than sorry”? She literally waited for me to mumble something about variety and marketing, which clearly was not the answer she was looking for because she replied with a knowing wink to the person BEHIND me. Jesus wept lady, have a heart. Luckily the woman behind me had the decency to smirk into her single ply loo roll. Cretins.