Tag: hip hop

It’s almost over.

I’m so ragey and tearful and I don’t think it’s all down to caffeine withdrawal.

This morning I had a phone call with someone at the World’s Worst Company about why I am leaving. I listened to myself talking. I listened to myself explaining how much it meant to me, to have the chance to return to an industry that I had been missing and wanting for 16 years. How much it meant to me to have the chance to revive a career that is what I was supposed to do with my life and had to turn my back on because of money.

Then I listened to myself explaining why I am about to turn my back on that career a second time. How I’ve taken 15 months of abuse from this company that I can no longer forgive. How I can’t wait any longer for it to get better, because it never gets any better. How we’ve abused our customers in a way that I can’t continue to be a part of. How the entire organisation seems to run on a tacit agreement that everyone should do as little work as possible. Everyone keeps quiet about it so that everyone can keep getting away with it. Everyone pays lip service to quality and customer satisfaction just as long as it means that nobody has to do any ACTUAL work. I can’t adjust to that and I am never going to adjust to that. I’m not retired and I couldn’t be that lazy and defeatist if I tried. I was born to work. And that’s why I can’t spend any more time with them or being required to represent them because they are professional work-avoiders.

I listened to myself talking and I am so angry. I am so angry and so bitterly disappointed. Then I ended the call and then I had another cry.

Let’s count how many more days until I am out of this nightmare.

  • I will down tools and stop being on the payroll at midnight on December 31st, that’s 7 weeks and 3 days away.
  • I can work from home and stop going to that horrible office in early December. My last day on the premises will be Friday 9 December, that’s 4 weeks and 2 days away.
  • Between now and then, I have to be physically on the premises 14 more times.

What do I have to show for this, 15 months of sweating blood for this company and sincerely doing everything I could for our customers?

  • It paid my bills for a few months while I was getting my business back on track.
  • I have a lot of clothes.
  • I met the Person who I’m not supposed to be in love with. My prize. If that’s all I take away with me, that’s enough. Plans are in place.

I looked for my career and it was not there and I have to accept that. I found love and I wore some nice dresses, and that is something. Now I need to get through the last few weeks and then I need to rest.

In which I am a bit drunk and feel like writing about love and sex.

Let’s see if I can do this before my laptop dies or I fall asleep.

Background: I had a glass of wine with dinner and am in a swank hotel in Johannesburg, which is enough to put anyone in a good mood.

So let me tell you about the Person who I was illicitly in love with until the other day when I cut off the supply. While I was in Philadelphia I was missing this person terribly and now only about 2 weeks later I’m in South Africa and I’m not missing them at all, which just goes to show that as you get older you become extremely good at controlling your emotions.

I’ve known the Person for almost exactly a year and it has taken that long for them to reveal themselves to me and what game they are playing and in my view it is a very foolish and self-denying game.

I get lots of satisfaction out of (a) sex, of which there is an abundant supply, still, even though I am an old lady, and (b) romance and being in love. So I have very much enjoyed the long game over the last year in which the Person and I carefully and tentatively romanced each other in a rather illicit way and I was very much looking forward to having sex with them, because what else would you expect to do with someone you are romantically attached to.

I listen to the things people say, I listen to all the details. I’m a very sharp listener considering I’m a bit deaf. People make off the cuff remarks and do various little things and I notice all of it, and through this they reveal the particular version of reality that they are inhabiting.

So the first thing that I’ve noticed about the Person is that he is a bit insecure. Coincidentally, he’s a bit insecure about things that aren’t my best features either, except I don’t worry about them as much. I’ve noticed him making remarks from time to time about people being fat and having less than perfect teeth and there were times when I thought this was directed at me and perhaps in a superficial way it was. I am a bit bulgy around the middle, there is no denying it (nice tits, though, swings and roundabouts) and my teeth or more precisely my gums are far from my best feature because I keep smoking like the fool I am. THEN it dawned on me that the Person is actually worried about these aspects of himself, and that’s why he makes critical remarks about other people. He posted a picture of himself on social media in which he is on a beach in a pair of swimming shorts and of course I’ve never seen him with so few clothes on before and guess what he’s every bit as chunky around the middle as I am, the only difference being that I don’t make bitchy comments about other people being fat. So that was interesting. Once that penny had dropped, I started paying attention to his attitude to his own teeth (which are far better than mine although not perfect) and he hides them. You know when people hide their teeth, they don’t smile or laugh properly and they use their lips like a suit of clothes. He does that. Interesting, huh.

And then there’s this other thing, the love and sex thing. So there was a period quite recently where our relationship was really heating up and it seemed to me that we were right on the brink of something happening. He has a particular weakness for big tits and my boobage is as impressive as my bulgy tum. I can really get some cleavage going on if I dress right and he can’t keep his eyes off it and there have been several times when he came and stood so unmistakably close to me and was shaking with desire and CLEARLY wanted to put his hands on me, which I wished he would. Then he panicked and backed off and went all frosty and borderline aggressive. And it was around this time that I started to pay very close attention to the things he says about his female friends. He talks about them in this very odd way and makes them sound like needy fuckwits.

Me, I like being single. In fact, I fucking love it. I am popular with boys. There are three of them in London right now, excitedly waiting for me to come home. Not second-rate ones, either. They range in age from 21 to 28. They are all handsome. The youngest one is unbelievably gorgeous, to the point that I can’t believe my good fortune. The middle one has been a devoted courtier of mine for 2 years. The oldest one is a scientist with a PhD. See how nicely I do. I am not at all short of attention and I can’t really imagine why I would want to trade that in for a relationship unless there was some compelling external reason, which there isn’t. I am a very fortunate woman. I’ve never been a big fan of couples and as I get older, richer and more hungry for adventure, the less interested I become. I like romance, as light and fluffy as candyfloss and I like to get laid, ideally with someone new who I’m not tired of.

Not so for the Person. After I started Listening, I noticed that he made two or three remarks about his female friends that made me think that they and also he were in need of some sort of help. Of one, after he’d done criticising her weight (she is quite a bit heavier than average) he remarked ‘at least she’s got a man’, like it was some sort of achievement (!!!! what is it, 1950? what do you mean ‘got a man’? I have enough men to start pimping them out, I wouldn’t call A man anything to get excited about). Then soon after that there was another occasion where I can’t remember the exact words but he referred to his female friends collectively as trying to capture A man and settle down like it’s some sort of difficult quest. I’m a feminist, okay, and a second-wave feminist into the bargain. IMO, being shackled to some idiotic guy who keeps knocking you up and won’t do the housework is the default condition that society would very much like to see ALL women consigned to, and the difficult part is RESISTING it. What a terribly sad state of mental health these poor women must be in, I thought, assuming they even exist.

And of course, it doesn’t matter whether they exist or not, because it’s not about them, it’s about him and how he sees himself. And how he sees himself is a far better catch than he actually is, considering he’s pushing 35 and still living with his mom and dad and has the CV of an 18 year old (okay, 22, let’s be fair). And so it becomes clear that this is where his satisfaction comes from. My satisfaction comes from developing romantic crushes on people and then bringing them to fruition in the bedroom. His satisfaction derives from other people developing romantic crushes on him and then pulling back and not having sex with them and not letting himself be in a position where someone has Got A Man and it’s him.

Which is okay and everything, I’m hardly in a position to be judgmental with my taste for hot boys who are half my age, you know, do your thing. Whatever floats your boat. But even so. I just don’t QUITE see how declining to have sex with people is more fun than actually having sex with them. Perhaps it’s not just his waistline and his teeth that he’s worried about.

So there you go. So after all of that I just went straight to the part of my brain that concerns the Person and switched off the romantic feelings at the mains. And that’s why he’s not getting laid and I’m going home to a fan base. I’m having the scientist as a matter of priority as soon as I get back. Very nice Finnish boy. Blond. Very attractive. So that’s my agenda for when I get off the plane in the UK. See my hairdresser to get my roots done. Take the Finnish boy to bed.

And that’s all the slightly pornographic news. Let’s have a nice vintage tune.

Naughty by Nature: Written On Ya Kitten

 

The General State of My Life

  • Diet news. I want to say FFS, but actually I am dieting pretty successfully. I’m too busy to think about eating most of the time so it is just a case of making VERY sensible choices when it is time to eat, e.g., a boiled egg and some lettuce as opposed to 4 lattes with optional cake at the weekends. I still have a lot of weight to take off and I absolutely need caffeine or I WILL die, but have switched to espresso.
  • Beauty. Despite feeling like a heifer, I found a flattering dress and went to the big evening event on Tuesday looking stylish. They took photos, as I predicted, and I look okay. I have massive jugs, which is never, ever a bad thing. My absence of a waist isn’t noticeable and I have quite slim legs so we are doing okay actually.
  • Love. Does not quit. It is a natural resource, like water.
  • Cash flow. We are playing a tight game here, fucking hell. Can we get some invoices paid before the tax bill arrives, I don’t know.
  • Business in general. Is great, actually. We are doing great. Lots of new work in for the summer, making me really happy.
  • Day Job. Better. I am happier when senior people spend time with me, letting me talk about business. Thank you, gentlemen. That is really helping a lot.

Let’s have a choon. One simply cannot argue with Flavor Flav. You probably should get up and dance.

Flavor Flav- UNGA BUNGA BUNGA

Church.

I have been doing Tax all day. Fucking pain in the ass. It’s 10.30 at night and I’m talking to a customer services representative from Norton, trying to track down a VAT invoice.

Why is this my life? It was really nice weather today. I wasn’t outside. Let’s try and remember what all this is for. I fucking love this song, it might be one of the most cheerful and inoffensive songs about money I’ve ever heard. The hook is hooky, the lyrics are memorable and the video has bonus Walter White and Jesse Pinkman.

It ain’t my fault that my money on the rise and it ain’t my fault that it’s stacking to the skies.

That’s what it’s for. I am broke and I have tax bills but I am rich on paper. Keep playing the game.

Don’t be afraid, cause there’s money money everywhere.

ETA: He is a lot more than 30 lbs overweight and he does not give a damn.

D/R Period: Money

How do you see your house?

I live in a flat. Yesterday I went to see my downstairs neighbours because they took delivery of a parcel that I needed to collect. They are a very nice South American married couple in their late 30s. Very nice, amiable, respectable couple. While I was standing at the front door waiting for the husband to get my parcel, I was able to view a small section of their hall. It was really nice. It was very clean, it was warm and it was attractively decorated with South American style, looked like there was a little altar going on, with some flowers and a romantic portrait of the Holy Virgin. V interesting. Then the man came back with my parcel and I swiftly departed to let them get on with their weekend.

Today I get to do some urgent cleaning and housework because I have managed to get on top of work (hooray!). I just looked at my flat and not only is there a stark contrast between my flat and theirs, it is clear that I regard my flat as less an interior than an extension of Outdoors. There is cigarette ash in the hall under the skylight, in what is clearly an outdoor smoking area, the kitchen would not be out of place at a camping site at a festival and the living room floor is decorated with bin bags. This is how we living. No wonder I don’t have a boyfriend.

Get up and dance. The washing-up can wait for another five minutes.

Young MC: Bust A Move (1989)