I’m pretty sure I want a mobile home now.
Tag Archives: media
I used to be one of those people. You know, the grammar nazi who would correct you if you dared use the wrong there/their/they’re. This was ironic since I was the one that required a cheat sheet when working with Naomi at Clubplanet. She wrote the above down on a Post-It and I referred to it when writing articles. I loved it and used it daily when one day, I spilled my coffee on it. It’s a sad thing to lose your coffee and your grammar education in the same day. I have never fully recovered, which you would know if you read any of this shit. I’m excited for this new post-it. Whoray for good grammar!
Want your own? Hear you go.
Following numerous arguments with The Man, I finally got my review. In truth, I requested to not be reviewed and simply told to go home but Human Resources would not have it. They have to follow policy or some shit like that. But I finally got it and now I have three weeks to improve. And for your info, it is VERY hard sucking this bad.
Your performance has failed to live up to the positions expectations so far. You have repeatedly made errors in your work that cause extra effort among the group to correct. Consistent mistakes have negatively impacted client’s campaigns and that reflects poorly on ______ Media.
We have spoken several times prior to this review to discuss your performance and the need to meet certain expectations. We had several discussions over the course of the past few months but the first major discussion where your poor performance was noted, occurred in the beginning of June and we have since had several follow up discussions reiterating the same theme. I have expressed on several occasions the need to perform your job duties in an accurate manner.
Repeating the same mistakes time and again
Extra time and effort is always required to complete basic
The back and forth of error checking and corrections takes
away time spent from other projects and clients.
You have difficulty in understanding some of the
mathematical formulas needed to succeed in analyzing data.
Part of your job function is to gather and analyze data to make
informed decisions – and these skills are lacking.
Lack of Excel Skills
You have expressed difficulty on several occasions of your lack
of understanding with Excel
The nature of the your position as Junior Search Manager
requires good excel skills to analyze data and make judgments
upon that data.
Lacking these skills will negatively impact your ability to do the
job that you were hired to do.
You have difficulty in gathering and organizing data from our
client’s campaigns into accurate reports.
Lack of Passion or Drive within this organization.
Due to the lack of these traits, there seems to be a laid back
approach to your work
Even after mistakes occur within your work, you feel that it is
okay to complete the task tomorrow.
Lack of Communication among other employees
You have expressed a difficulty in “fitting in” at ______.
Interacting with the other members of the team is vital to
understanding our business.
I have spent the last three weeks trying to get fired. My efforts have been fruitless.
This is my story.
Three weeks ago, The Man summoned me into his office. I had just submitted another report with an abundance of errors. The numbers didn’t match up. I forgot, yet again, to format the columns correctly. He was angry.
“Diana. I have given you so many chances. I really don’t want to do this but if you don’t impress me in the next three weeks, I’m going to have to let you go.”
At first I was like, omg. omg. omg. omg. I’m going to get fired. How will I live? What if this? What if that? omg.
But then I was like, this is awesome. My dream of being unemployed will finally come true! Instead of spending my days carelessly dealing with clients I couldn’t care less about, I could actually be productive. I could do my hair and clean my room in the way it deserves to be cleaned. I can lunch and play tennis. I can write blogs to my hearts desire without looking over my shoulder in fear. Most importantly, I could sleep late and not take that vile F train with those peasants.
Not impressing The Man turned out to be easy. I simply continued doing what I was doing. And some.
I took two vacation days. And two sick days. I came a bit late and left a bit early. I stopped responding to emails. I rolled my eyes when passing people in the hall. I didn’t flush the toilet. I made penis art with my desktop icons. I then saved it to my desktop and called it Diana.
And then came week 3. I emailed The Man to talk.
“So, I was wondering what my status was here?” I asked.
He proceeded to tell me all of the things I was doing wrong. Again. With every fault of mine he mentioned, I nodded my head and said I know. I’m trying my best. It’s just that Excel is not my thing. I can’t help it. It’s just not my thing. I get easily confused.
He noted that he couldn’t believe I just told him “excel was not my thing.”
I noted that I was just being honest. Then I asked if I will have a job next week.
“Yes, you will have a job next week. You will have a review and maybe we’ll send you to Excel training.”
“Right. Thanks. Okay. I’m going to go now. Thanks. Okay. Bye” I said before rushing outside to have a fit. A review? Excel training? Really? REALLY?
What in the fucks name does a chick gotta do to get fired these days? I shall tell you.
PS. Don’t IM me with questions in regards to this topic until I am on my non-work IM. K. Thanks.
In addition to being a klepto, I am also a pathological liar. I can make up a story within seconds and go on with it for as long as necessary. I can tell you I’m a lawyer working to save the innocent, that I’m an ex-stripper working towards getting my jr. high school diploma or that I’m a nice girl and of course I’ve never done this before.
But I don’t usually lie to my friends and so much of these stories take place when I’m out. Such was the case with Chinku, a native of India but a New Yorker at heart. I met him while I was standing outside a bar/restaurant smoking. He was sitting right outside and when he noticed me, he got up to chat. He asked me how it was inside. I told him it was ok. He asked how the drinks were. I said I was drinking coffee. He was visibly drunk and I could see that he didn’t understand.
“I don’t drink,” I said.
“Why not?” he asked.
“Because I’m an alcholic.”
“Oh, me too. But how do you not drink?”
I then explained to him the benefits of AA. He asked how I was able to be at a bar and didn’t I get tempted? I said that you can’t live your life avoiding places. That you have to have self control and will power. That I felt better in the morning knowing that I wasn’t a drunken whore sobbing in some stranger’s apartment. He said he wished he could do it. I said you can – you just have to want it.
He looked at me with those eyes. Love eyes I like to call them. I could tell he was enamored by my inner strength and beauty. Then his friends came out. I was introduced to all of them (so soon!) and Chinku told them I wasn’t drinking. That I was sober. One friend asked how long.
“Less than a year. One day at a time.” I said. Then we all high fived. They weren’t haters and this I could respect.
In reality, the real reason I don’t drink is because I don’t like the taste and because I don’t need an excuse to behave immorally.
The moral of this story is that lying to others is the same exact thing as lying to yourself. I spent the rest of the evening admiring my ability to be beat my drinking problem and wondered why everyone couldn’t just do the same. Then I prayed I wouldn’t relapse and called it a night.
Why is it that we reward inadequate children with photo shoots? This girl is clearly old enough to know how to swim and yet there she stands, with her arms on her waist and a victorious smile. It’s as if she is awaiting a gold medal for being the least talented child at the swimming pool.
Her mother is equally as proud. She looks up at her daughter with a smile that suggests she will be telling her friends about this accomplishment. “My wonderful Suzy is like Michael Phelps. She will sink quicker than any other child. Would you like to arrange a race?”
If only all mothers were like mine. She taught me how to swim at a very early age by throwing me into the bathtub. “You wanted to swim? Go swim. Just keep talking so I know you’re alive,” she would say before going into the other room to chat on the phone. This is how I learned how to hold my breath underwater and swim long distances. Unlike Suzy, I actually had talent but I never got my photo shoot.Or a medal. Only moderate brain damage that I attribute to the ceramic tiles and their incessant need to hurl themselves at my head. Haters.
^This has nothing to do with the story.
Midwood HS called me the other day. They were working on some alumni book and they wanted to know what I was up to. I personally think they were calling to mock me but I’m sure they would disagree.
So this woman, who I could only assume is 89.4 years-old , starts asking me questions.
Did you go to college? Yes.
Did you graduate? Yes.
What was your degree. BA
Do you have any other degrees? No.
Do you work? Yes
What field are you in? Uhm. Uhm. Marketing I guess.
Do you still live where you live? Yes.
Any additions to your listing? What do you mean?
Are you married? Have kids? Pregnant? No. No. I hope not.
Well Diana, for two easy payment of $39.99, you can be the proud owner of this book that will boldly bring attention to your lack of accomplishments. Can I put you down for one copy?
So I’m like, uhm. No. I have facebook. And that’s free. And she’s like, well the book lists classmates two years before and two years after you. And I’m like… OH! Really? Tell me more about people I don’t give a shit about. Go on, old lady. Don’t be shy. And she did. And I hung up. Which is mean but so was she.*
Okay, so first of all, I hate when people/organizations aren’t aware of the year. Perhaps such a book would have been useful in 1999 but I can’t imagine anyone actually buying that crap today.
And second of all, facebook is actually a great place to go to see how underachieved you really are. And by you, I mean me. Not that I don’t feel proud that I’m friends with the future doctors and lawyers of America. It actually makes me feel safe because I’m certain I will need both in my future. But wouldn’t it be nice if say, I were a doctor? Like, Hey sick patient. Doctor Diana will be with you in a moment. Just have a seat. Or if I were a lawyer. They’d say, Diana is a lawyer and so she will be representing herself during this trial. A Jewish lawyer who knows how to save. Imagine that.
I personally think it would make my mom very happy. She likes it when I’m considerate about where I spend my money.
*I didn’t actually hang up on her. Because the last time I hung up on someone like her (customer service, etc), my mom got really mad at me and said it wasn’t nice. And I was like, maybe you’re right but he/she/whocares was overwhelming me with talk and I didn’t know what else to do. Too much pressure. And she’s like, you’re an idiot. So now I don’t hang up on people anymore because I feel bad. I just stop listening. Clearly that’s nicer.
Maxim is closing its UK print edition after 14 years. They will only operate online.
Wah. If only they had devices that allowed you to read internet stuff on the go. Oh wait…
I used to be one of those people who really enjoyed selecting the perfect card for the perfect person and then writing a 10 page essay on the inside re: how much I love them and how much they mean to me and blah fucking blah. I even used to draw special animals that were all the rage. But I’m over it. I now see birthday cards as a hassle – I have to go to the store and pick it out and then I have to think about all the things we went through in the past year and honestly, its way too much. And I don’t really care to be honest. Nor do I care to wrap your gift nicely because I think its cuter when its a mess. Deal with it.
I want this but I’m not sure if its art or a real product and I wonder why people go out of their way to confuse me.
I was at my parent’s house this weekend and I was hungry. So I decided to make eggs because that’s all they had. So I’m taking out the skillet and all the necessary ingredients needed to make my fancy breakfast. So my mom is like, what are you doing? And I’m like, I’m making eggs and then my dad is like, open the window. And my mom is like, why? And he’s like, for when the fire starts. The smoke will go out quicker. And then my mom is like, nu Igor. Leave her alone. And he’s like, hahahahahaha. And I’m like, what the fuck? Wahhh.
That pretty much explains why I don’t cook. But I still really love cooking products that I would definitely use if I had to make something. And for everyone’s information, I haven’t caused a fire or burnt a hole in non-microwavable Tupperware in over a year. So in yo face fools.
This butter thing is only $3.98. A steal!
Tip: When making Rice-a-roni, add water to rice before microwaving.
Google sent us cupcakes today because its Friday. I’m not trying to brag because really, it’s a fucking cupcake but I’m just saying. They got monkey for cupcakes but not for salaries? Douchebaggery.
And this is weird for me to say because I generally don’t care about people or their jobs. And I don’t even like the reps because they are way too happy and chirpy and people like this make me uncomfortable. Anyways. That’s all.
This is another example of why cops are pigs.
Just because its a law doesn’t mean you have to enforce it. Sure, you think its your job but I assure you that there are many ways to get out of doing it. I can make you a list if you’d like. And I don’t understand how you, piggy cops, think you’re doing something good with your life when all you’re doing is staking out a charitable event.
And who the fuck makes a law that bans feeding homeless people? Apparently Orlando, the worst place on Earth. Perhaps they should spend more time looking into why they have so many hobos and not making stupid laws.
Okay. So I know David Patterson only looks mildly retarded because he is blind but that doesn’t change anything. He still looks retarded and I don’t think he is fit to run this great state.
Aside from the fact that he will raise cigarette taxes again, it has come out that he has a secret plan to tax the wealthy ($500K+) as well as raise sales tax. That’s not the problem. The problem is that he is publicly denying this but privately doing it. Which is like, duh – welcome to life. But it’s like, are you so fucking blind that you can’t see the Post reporter is sitting in your office while you do unethical things? Seriously. Buy a contact or two.
“Paterson has told everyone he really wants the taxes, but he wants it to appear to the public that he’s against them,” a senior legislative official said.
“Then, next year, when he’s running, he’ll say we can afford to phase them out so he can claim that he’s a tax cutter.”
Read more here.
To be honest, I don’t care about politics. I’m just offended by his poor sneakery. Everyone gets caught but this dude is a mess.
Val, Zohra and I went out one night and somehow the conversation turned to motherhood. Basically none of us think we are ready to be moms yet. And basically, both those bitches think I’d make a terrible one. So I’m like, I’d make a wonderful mom. I love very well. And they’re like, but you have to take care of them and stuff and can’t do what you want. And I’m like, what are you talking about? Then they gave me a list of all this shit babies needs and I was like, oh man. But if I had one, I’d have lots to write about. And theyre like, but you can’t just leave a baby to go write a blog. And I’m like, really? What the fuck kind of bullshit is that. I’m going to Rite Aid to buy some Plan B.
The point of this story is that a lot of people need instructions on how to take care of babies – not just me. Take the sign above. Maybe, just maybe, someone out there does think its okay to flush their baby down the toilet. But because of the sign, they’ll now know its actually not okay. I wonder if Val and Zohra had anything to do with it because apparently they have it all figured out.
this past week, ive been participating in the national wahathon. i fucking wah at everything. my head hurts. im sneezing. my heart hurts. i’m hungry. im tired. i hate life. wah fucking wah. enough already.
so today i got a piece of somewhat not wah-like news. and so naturally i did what i try to avoid doing. i got excited. it was terrible. i had to remain calm as i was at work and so my hand arms started to hurt from composure. wah. then i couldn’t focus because i was excited. wah. then i wanted to go home and do a jig or some shit but couldn’t because i couldnt feel my hands and had difficulty typing up a sick note to the man. wah.
and even though im still excited and see somewhat of a light at the end of this miserable tunnel, i know better than to expect it to work out. high hopes lead to high falls. but if by chance it does (work out?), then i will be pleasantly surprised as opposed to no-fucking-kidding dissapointed. i look forward to finding out! and by that i mean i’ll have perpetual anxiety until i do. good times.
Today (last Monday), that chick I stalk was sitting in the center of Starbucks. She was wearing brown boots and a blue top. I didn’t really think it matched. She was also wearing a funky ring on her wedding ring finger and I briefly wondered if she was engaged to Elmo.
I don’t know why but I kept turning in her direction. Actually, I do know why. It’s because I’m stalking her. But then for some reason I stopped looking at her (some reason=taking notes) and when I turned back around, she was gone. I wondered how this could have possibly happened as I was writing at a ferocious speed. How did she manage to pack everything up so quickly? Was this chick magical, too? Did she house unicorns in her closet? Then I spotted her by the window and jotted that down. I now know to sit there so that we have greater chance of meeting.
Then that chick got a phone call. She looked angry and this made me angry. You’re fucking engaged to Elmo, you sit in Starbucks all day drinking coffee and writing. It is illegal for you to ever be in a bad mood. This ruffled my feathers for the duration of her call but then I simmered down. I was scaring the couple next to me with my excessive foot tapping and knuckle cracking.
All in all, it was a successful session. I learned that comfy couch seats are so 3 weeks ago and that it is suspicious to others when you sit in said comfy couch seat with a rope and heavy duty duct tape in your lap. However, I consider this all to be progress and I look forward to reporting on our next date.