Working with Friends as Superiors (Friendagers)

50's woman smoking deskI had the privilege to at one point in my career work with one of my best friends. At a time when I had left the industry and was screaming and crying to get back in, this particular friend contacted upper management on my behalf. Through her recommendation and my stellar interview (still my best at this point) I was hired to work with her where we spent the next 5 years hip to hip managing and cultivating not only the direction of the office but also a fantastic friendship where honesty and loyalty to each other was not only implied, but relied upon. When we were not at work we were having doggie play dates, drooling over Nikki Sixx, Vince Neil, Tommy Lee, and Mick Mars at every Motley Crue concert that came to town, having spats at Cedar Point over who said who was going to ride what and then chicken out, and shared a love of the supernatural and spiritual beliefs. That is, of course, until the amusement ride of our personal/professional relationship broke and I was the one catapulted out of the car. A decision (which I admit, I had caused the problem) had to be made. And since she was in a position to make it for me, she made the decision to cover her ass and boot mine.

Lesson Number 537-If you decide working with your friend is such a fantastic idea you must remember what position you will both be put in if shit hit’s the fan. For my part I made the error of judgment to believe love and friendship would conquer over something silly like violating corporate employment guidelines. When your beloved is your manager, they could end up in the hot seat for looking the other way when you commit a corporate sin. I’m telling you the speed at which all honesty and loyalty fly out the window is warp. He/She will sell you out so expediously as to guarantee they will have a job to come back to the next day, it won’t make your head spin, it will literally blow it off you body. On the flip side, while ex-friendager hands you your pink slip along with the shit bag of your own making, remember you are now in a position to decide just how warranted this disciplinarian action is and whether you would even want to continue this relationship on a personal level. My Friendager pulled the “It’s not personal it’s business” defense. If your friendager pulls this card, they’re trying to have it both ways. You need to make the decision for yourself just how far this roller coaster car fell off track. In conclusion I would say based on my experience I would not recommend the friendager relationship. However if you feel your relationship is strong enough to withstand the inevitable my guest. (And I apologize in advance for being right).


The truth about Human Resources

She looks like she could be a total HR bitch right??

She looks like she could be a total HR bitch right??

When it comes to being suspicious regarding the true motivations between me and my corporate warden, no one inspires more question marks than the Human Resources Department. Simply put, we truly cannot discern which team they are batting for because these bitches bat for both. I have true disdain for HR. In my experience, HR has created more problems and dragged out more ridiculous situations than need be simply because I don’t believe they actually do anything all day but pick on people and shame them for their unfortunate human mistakes. It’s like you’re the horse with blinders on and they’re the rider with a carrot and you trot on trying to get the carrot then as soon as you turn your head they smack you upside it with the claw portion of a hammer then send your poor, broken, dead body down to the glue factory because did after all..turn your head when you were not supposed to.

My most damning experience happened years ago when I was in the midst of at odds with a manager. Being that I now understand why I was so upset but at the time being unable to express my true anger I called HR for help and in my naiveté expected they would rush in and try to mend the fences between us two so we could get on with our lives. Well, mend they sure did..on his end. Even though I rang the bell of contrition, my reward was to be slapped with a 1st warning due to unacceptable behavior. At this time the office was suffering a dramatic decrease in employees (huh they kept leaving?) which left me to handle the whole shitboat by myself while Mr. Manager was whisked away downtown because he was sooooo important and was managing 2 offices at the same time. I did the best I could to uphold the dignity of my position, however, with 2 fresh off the press employees the teller line was going to hell in a hand basket…fast. My ability to cope was dwindling everyday and I thought I was handling the best I could until I was called in for another conference between my manager, Ms. HR, and myself. Expecting good reviews, I got slapped again with a 2nd warning and quit on the spot. I could tell at this meeting no one was truly evaluating the position I was put into and HR was only listening to what Mr. Bigshot had to say. I like to think I beat him at his game that day. I like to think I left him in such dire straits with no experienced teller help that maybe I finally was appreciated and he had to roll over the thoughts that he pushed me too far. By the way he slammed my belongings in boxes and crammed whatever was mine in my vehicle the next morning I do believe justice was served.

Lesson Number 93-Don’t depend on Human Resources as the supreme court of the company you work for. Better yet..Don’t depend on them for anything at all!! They are a biased entity employed supposedly for you but working and fixing problems that suit the business in the end. Think about it this way. They’re like North Korea. They love to spend all this energy and money into propaganda geared towards earning your loyalty and respect for their department, then as soon as you put HR’s loyalty and respect to the test, they’ve got 50,000 soldiers waiting at your door to take you out. Here’s my advise. If you can solve your problems simply first by having a conversation with your manager and letting your manager know you understand there is an issue that needs fixing, great! Get the air cleared out between the two of you, that would be first best advised. If you need further advise, Cynthia Shapiro is perhaps my Human Resources hero. She wrote “Corporate Confidential” which gives an in-depth look at how corporations use their Human Resource departments and tactics to dispose of the “undesirable“ employee. She once was employed with Human Resources and wrote a book about what to watch out for. Every aspiring and existing professional should read this! I love her!! Finally, if you are still unable to solve the issue, move on!! Time to go. You will find something better once you write a stellar resume and send it everywhere. If you do make the decision to involve HR, have your resume ready and start sending it out asap!! Chances are that you have a good 2 weeks until you receive your last paycheck.

Dear Grandma, What happened to me at your funeral

My Grandmother died recently. She died July 17th, 2013, succumbing to complications which were caused by a stroke she suffered back in 1986. I was 5 years old when she had her stroke and I still remember going to the hospital to see her. I remember being horrified by the machines which kept her body alive, and the outlook regarding her survival was bleak. Doctors then told my family she wouldn’t make it out of the coma. But miraculously she did. For the next 27 years she lived with the side affects of this horrendous event, but she lived with grace and dignity, never uttering any complaints of the limitations which she then endured. She would reminisce on past events, the good times, never wishing her life was still like it was. Since it is difficult for me to express my emotions verbally, I figured the best way to honor her in my way would be to write her a letter detailing the humorous events which transpired this evening, me being the target of these humorous events. And sharing it with the world. So I’m breaking my tales of relationship do’s and don’t in honor of my Grandmother.

Dear Grandma,

I hope Heaven is as big of a deal as everyone says it is. When I picture you I see you smiling and chatting with members of our family who have passed years ago. I see you in a navy polyester suit and red turtlenecky shirt. I don’t know why. Your probably rockin’ your tiger striped jumpsuit but, in my vision, maybe the jumpsuit is too informal and sexy for such an occasion. I hope Grandpa is well too, make sure to tell him I said hi. I also hope there are domino game tournaments which I know you will kill at.

I wanted to tell you about what happened to me this evening at your funeral. Well, visitation, but it’s all part of it. Your son, my mother, and I arrived promptly at 5 p.m. as instructed by the family. We spent the first 10 minutes looking at the flowers and making nice comments about the many people who cared about you and sent such beautiful bouquets. By 5:30 the rest of the family had arrived. This is when the dysfunctional circus for me started.

In lieu of the famous tiger striped jumpsuit you wore, memorialized in pictures taken at your 25th anniversary party before I was born, I felt it appropriate to wear my leopard print underwear in your honor. The family greeted each other, and as I stood next to your 5th grandchild (the one who was obsessed with Zena the warrior princess and walked around with her walking stick one summer when she was a teenager), I noticed her wearing the cutest pair of leopard print flats. Laughing I turned to our warrior princess and discretely told her I was wearing leopard print underwear in honor of you. She scoffed and rolled her eyes which caught the attention of the rest of the family. “What?” they all asked to which she replied (to my horror) “Oh, Samantha felt it was appropriate to inform me she is wearing her leopard print..oohhh”. She cut off there at the end but the damage was done and irreversible. I’ll never forget the stares, the “sheeshes” from grandchild 3, your oldest son’s eye roll and head shake, your middle son’s (my dad’s) head drop and nervous head shake, my mother’s “Samantha!”, and my aunts look which said “Are you kidding me right your Grandmother‘s funeral??”. (LOL). Thank God everyone was so uncomfortable we quickly disbanded. This happened at 5:35 p.m.

Visitation started promptly at 6:00 p.m. We spent our time together looking at pictures of you and laughing at the ones which brought back funny memories, loving comments of you, and what you meant in our lives. (Don’t worry, we promptly displayed the 25th anniversary/tiger strip jumpsuit pictures front and center) Your baby sister arrived 6:05 p.m. and had a really hard time keeping it together right off the bat, which is understandable, and I almost lost it there for a minute. I didn’t want to lose it Grandma, especially at the beginning of the visitation. So I walked to join my mother’s friend who came to pay her respects. Mother’s friend put her arm around me (mistake # 1) and said (mistake # 2) “Oh honey, you don’t have any Grandma’s left.” I looked at her bewildered not knowing how to respond except “Wow..did you bring arrows with you today??” She then said (mistake # 3) “You lost all your Grandma’s and Grandpa’s!” Astonished by the fact this freight train wasn’t stopping I looked over at my mother and asked “Is she for real??” The final comment was “Oh, you”re just too young to lose your Grandparents at your age!” Having enough of this tactless verbal exchange, I headed for the ladies room to regroup. It was 6:08 p.m. by this time.

Can I ask you how is it even possible Uncle Bill is still alive?? I was SHOCKED to see him walk into the funeral home (Well..hobble). I thought he kicked the bucket 20 years ago!! Even though he is walking ok, standing for him is another feat entirely. At around 6:33 p.m., I was talking to family over by your casket when Uncle Bill came hobbling over and started falling. He started falling on me. I would liken it to that drunk friend who is standing next to you then suddenly they lose their balance, regain it, lose it again, then regain it. Grandma, I thought he was dying. This was my 5 second thought process. “Oh holy Jesus, Uncle Bill is going to die right here. Right Here!! At my Grandmother’s funeral, right in front of her casket. And he is going to die on me!! He is going to keel over and fall right on top of me. On top of everything that has happened to me this hour, Uncle Bill is going to die on me!! At least we are at a funeral home. We could make it a twofer”. But he didn’t die. Instead the helpful individual who grabbed his arm to steady him got more then they bargained for when he threw them off and promptly hobbled to the corner chair, where he remained the rest of the evening. My guess is you will be seeing Uncle Bill soon.

(Insert ssiigghh here) So there you have it. Thank God we got out of there at 8:30. I’m sorry I can’t make it to the funeral tomorrow, but given the embarrassments suffered, I’m pretty relieved. But I’m sure you’re ok with it. I gotta go now, but I will see you on the other side. Oh and *Charlotte Grace, your doggie great-grandchild, say’s hi!!

Yours Always,

Samantha E. Texer

*Charlotte Grace is not to be confused with Charlotte Grant. Charlotte Grace is my St. Bernard. I’m sure she will get mentioned in future postings.

The Concept of “Big”

50's slezy guyI reference Sex and the City quite often. I do this because my 20’s were influenced heavily by the television show and also because I lived it. You could have plopped me down into an episode and I would have fit right in with Carrie, Samantha, Miranda, and Charlotte without skipping a beat. Right down to the “Big” experience. Yes..I had a “Big”. Had being the operative word. Now I can tell you where my reality breaks off from Carrie Bradshaw’s experience. It wasn’t a beautifully melodramatic unfolding of a love story where if you believe and hold on to the jerk he’ll come to his senses and marry you. experience was something that quite resembles (I imagine) being dropped on your ass from the top of the Empire State Building, falling God knows how many stories to the death of your self-worth and floundering hope that Mr. Right exists. This was a profound experience for me. So profound I have developed an unhealthy pattern of comparison where I pit a potential mate against my idea of perfection, which is Mr. Big. A decade later and he still governs my likes and ideals. I guess that’s why they call him Big. He’s too Big to fail.

Big and I had 2 chance meetings before we actually started seeing each other. The first was July of 2002. My friend and I were in the big Midwestern city from which we hail enjoying liquor and our youth when the meet cute happened. Literally I turned the corner and ran smack right into him. Jesus. He would have been ordinary and I could have turned and never looked back again if he didn’t have those damn Christian Slateresque eyebrows. They were groomed, gorgeous, and perfect. They captivated me instantly and he knew how to use them to his advantage. They were a part of his divinity to me. He introduced himself, his friend, and had no limit to telling me how gorgeous I was and he just wanted my friend and I to join them. My friend, being married at the time and intelligent, declined and I did as well (of never leave a girlfriend hanging!). After this chance encounter, I thought about him often and wondered if I would run into him again in the future.

The future happened September that same year. This time it was Charlotte Grant and myself at a bar in the heart of our hometown (the social hub if you will of the city). At this point in life I was obsessed with two things: My little black dress and red wine. We wore our little black dresses every time we went out and knew we drove throngs of men crazy when we did. To top off the mystique my red wine was always close at hand. I remember sitting at the bar when Big walked up out of nowhere and I said “Oh my god, It’s you.” Hating myself for being so obviously enamored of him by my first fumble, I played him off after that which drove him crazy. He was pretentious, metro sexual, strived to possess everything which he felt was quality, charismatic, affectionate, and simply perfect in my view of how a man should be. We had such lovely banter where he tried impressing me with every word that came out of his mouth but the reality is he didn’t have to say anything. He was facially fucking me with those eyebrows. I committed girlfriend sin and split from Charlotte that night and went back with him to his high rise condo where we drank wine on his high rise deck and smoked Cuban cigars. And when I left the next morning, I was sick as hell from the wine and Cubans, but was pleasantly convinced I was going to spend my life with him.

After that first night a routine developed. I spent every weekend with him and his friends.
I felt like a total bad ass bitch when I was with him. We went to every hot spot where I looked hot and he appreciated that. He cooked me dinner at his home, went to symphonies and ballets together, and spent days shopping at outlet malls and roaming apple orchards. He loved having the most beautiful girl in the room on his arm and I fulfilled this fantasy for him. When we got back from our night or days out we would turn on the television, sit up in bed, I would sip tea, and he would put his arm around me then we would watch for about 20 minutes till the fooling around grew too hot and heavy to even care what we were watching. We never had sex though. (Well..We did but that is a whole other story which I’m sure will be released in the future. It’s one of Charlotte’s favorites because I totally whored myself out for a bottle of wine with Marilyn Monroe’s picture on it. Hey..the bottle is supposedly worth $1000.00. That‘s a decent return)

But there were limitations. He called me. Every time I tried calling him he never answered his phone. But he was quick to call me Friday evenings to pack my bag for the weekend. His condo was impeccable. Never dirty, nothing was ever out of place. Almost like he really didn’t live there. He had rules regarding his bathroom. I was never to enter his bathroom and was only permitted to use his guest bathroom. He had this weird poster board that he had propped up on the top of his armoire which detailed age and a picture of what he wanted to have acquired by that time. (For example I remember he had under 50 a picture of a rolex and a man with a young women sitting next to him which indicated (he explained) married to a trophy wife.) His favorite movie was “American Psycho” and favorite song “If I had a million dollars”. He criticized the shampoo I used preferring I purchase something more expensive. You would have thought I, being a strong and successful woman in my right at that age, would have rebelled but the truth was I loved the parameters he set for me. I loved my boundaries. For some reason I felt obeying his boundaries would prove to him how much I loved and cared about him. How much I wanted to be with him.

Around Christmas of 2002, I remember mentioning to him I had an idea about what to purchase his friends who we saw quite frequently as a Christmas gift. He grew very quiet on the other end and said he had to call me back. He called me back 20 minutes later to inform me our relationship wasn’t working and I could pick up my things at the front desk of his complex. Devastated doesn’t even begin to describe the level of pain and heartbreak I sustained during the death of my idea of perfect.

After I met Big, I have not been able to sustain a relationship with a man for more than 3 months to 1 year. And what is most troubling is I have had serious relationships since then with men who would have made fantastic life partners but something was missing. Big was missing. But let me assure you Charlotte Grant has had 2 strong opinions over the years as to why my Big was completely unable to pursue a serious relationship with me and why I just have to get my ass over it. Her opinions are:

1) He was gay.
Ok Ok now if you read 4 paragraphs up where I detail what we did together it reads like a gay mans manual to social happiness. Ballets and Shopping. He dressed in the latest fashions for men, had George Michael’s greatest videos on DVD, and “Queer Eye for the Straight Guy” coffee table book. He also had a male companion who would frequently come up from Florida to visit which I was never allowed to tag along. They also went to Colorado together on a ski trip. I forgot about that one till now.

2) He was married..and gay
She also maintains the opinion which supports why he never answered his phone when I called and had to have me gone by noon on Sunday’s. He said it was because Sunday afternoon’s he spent with his family..she might be entirely right on that one. And also because..he was gay..

I can’t say exactly if there was a lesson to be taught here except I believe the Big concept (if you encounter it) is something we must go through for ourselves. It’s different for everyone. I also think it depends on what age we experience Big determines how prepared we are emotionally to handle him (or her). I was 21 when I was lucky enough to encounter him..he was 36. If I would have met Big now at 32, and knowing what I know now, I would have thought he was the biggest fucking douche bag on the planet. But that’s assuming I never met him at 21. Since I did meet him then, and if I ran into him now, I guarantee I would fall apart into a million pieces inside. I would try as mightily as I could to not let him see it but I would be dying on the inside. Because I never got over him. You never get over your Big. I think you never get over your Big because he (or she) represents your idea of relationship perfection.

So I guess I will sum this up with advise which even I myself have been unable to take. Your perfect mate should never make you feel as though something is missing or something is missing with you. If you do feel this way even after you have tried to make changes to make them love you more it’s time to jump ship sweetheart. No man (or woman) is worth the trouble if they are unwilling to go as far as you are for the sake of saving the relationship. There is one thing bigger than the Big and that is your self worth. Believe and know you deserve better. Final thought on why is he (or she) is too Big? They are just that. Too Big for your emotional well being to handle. Walk away even if his Christian Slater eyebrows are begging you not to go. If that’s the case, run as fast as you fucking can.

Rhonda/Ron the Rule Whore

Screen shot 2013-07-17 at 11.11.54 PMIn my industry I have on multiple occasions encountered “Rhonda (or Ron) the Rule Whore.” We all know who Rhonda/Ron is. She or he is that special co-worker that is a slave to the rules and makes sure that you are shackled to them too. Rhonda the Rule Whore tends to focus solely on maintaining records, upholding the holy corporate bible, and is quick to snatch up any opportunity to tattle on you in the quest of upholding the holy name of the company you sweat and bleed for. This co worker is your snake in the grass. The other tricky thing about Rhonda the Rule Whore is you tend to not even know her capabilities because she upholds and willing screws others due to her (or his) twisted sense of loyalty to the company; it‘s never personal. She is truly difficult to detect. I worked with a few Rhonda’s in the past but was most recently burned later in my career and would have to admit this is one lesson freshly scorched into my commandments.

I worked with someone recently who I regarded in a very positive manner. This person was kind, honest, fun, and I felt comfortable sharing with them personal details of my life. A few years later this person and I came up for promotion; the latter receiving theirs first. The irony of this being that my manager and I had discussed in detail how perfect this person would be for another position if I was to be promoted immediately. In my good nature, I affirmed her qualifications for the job she was recommended for. I think back now on how naive and pivotal I was in placing Rhonda the Rule Whore into a position of power.

After waiting years to receive my recognition, I had difficulty at first accepting Rhonda the Rule Whore’s immediate promotion but swallowed the corporate bullshit with a smile and faith that my promotion was right around the corner. Rhonda’s true nature wasn’t obvious at first but shortly after her promotion it emerged. One day I made the mistake of getting my work schedule crossed. I arrived on a Thursday at 12:30 p.m. and after arriving looked at the schedule to then ascertain I was supposed to be there at 12:00 p.m.. Laughing this off, I confided to Rhonda the Rule Whore, in a comical manner, my mistake. Rhonda the Rule Whore and I laughed and before I left that day my manager presented me with a record to sign. This was not abnormal. I grabbed a pen only to look and see that Rhonda the Rule Whore had written me up for my honest mistake. Angry, but vowing to watch my step better I signed the damn log and had one eye on Rhonda the Rule Whore from then on.

Over the next few months it got progressively worse. I was constantly feeling as though I had one eye on me at all times. I then made the grievous mistake of taking to Facebook (not my proudest moment) in a fit of rage with work one day and writing something that ultimately cost me my career and something I still regret. However, hiding in the Facebook grass was the office snake who I’m convinced..if not admitted to, was the one who pointed my manager in my direction and made known this indiscretion. Tsk, tsk, tsk..

Lesson number 351 – Rhonda (or Ron) the Rule Whore can be easily identified if you know what to look for. Look for the one who is more concerned with policy and procedures, less concerned about the morale of the whole office, and very concerned about what you should and shouldn’t be doing. Never, ever accept them as friends or acquaintances on social media. I can’t stress this enough! As a matter of fact, block them at all cost! That way if you are caught up in an indiscretion they will have no knowledge of it unless notified by another. On a greater scale..block all of your co-workers. That’s what they are, co-workers, and if they can scramble over you to get higher on the ladder they will. And when they do, they will give you a precise kick to the head wearing those pristine high heels or fabulous wing tips and will knock you completely off the ladder, falling fast to the hard ass asphalt of your disgrace below.

The link between disasterous relationships and Mountain Dew

Cola isn't exactly Mountain Dew but you get it.

Cola isn’t exactly Mountain Dew but you get it.

Most recently I was forced to evaluate a very puzzling link between some grown men, unhealthy obsessions with Mountain Dew, and their personal maturity level. To me, Mountain Dew is the soft drink that looks like it came from a nuclear plant and the United States didn’t know how to dispose of it so some crazy scientist was able to modify it’s chemical composition into a soft drink and now we kill brain cells consuming the stuff willingly at an alarming rate. For some reason I have encountered more men in my existence obsessed with the stuff then women. Which forced me to evaluate how many of my bad relationships with men could have been prevented if I had stumbled upon this link earlier in life.

Most recently I had engaged in an October to December 2012 romance with a man who I was quickly convinced at the time was my soul mate (thanks to my psychic who drove the notion home..crazy bitch isn’t right all the time). First date was magical. He was unable to take his eyes off me and by the end of the week was introducing me to friends and family. By the next week he had moved out of his town house which he shared with his friend in order to (as he explained it) be closer to his family, daughter, and me. The next 2 weeks all I saw was stars. Stars which, when I thought of him and our future together, continuously swirled with light so blinding I couldn’t see that bizarre neon yellow liquid he drank can after can of. By Thanksgiving the relationship was already starting to fizzle. I first noticed the signs when he took a call from an ex-girlfriend who he continuously complained about while we were cuddling on the couch. By the next week he wasn’t calling as frequently, was choosing to hang out with his work comrades, and didn’t ask me to tag along. By early December I had lost my mind completely (which was not uncommon) and in a fit rage called him and demanded him to tell me whether he wanted to be with me or not. I can tell you for certain..he chose not.

Circling back to the soda, it was February or March of this year where I made this pivotal connection and thought back on all my relationships which had a common denominator of the liquid sugar acid know as Mountain Dew . There was at least 4-5 other past relationships where Mountain Dew seemed to be the lurking indicator of impending doom. Now able to think clearly about the relationship that had just imploded, I could clearly now see he had some serious issues which I was unwilling to notice that indicated his maturity level at the time. He was unemployed at the time we met, moved back in with his parents because he didn’t have the credit or work history to rent an apartment on his own, had a very unhealthy relationship with his mother, WOW (World of Warcraft for those of you who have a life), and had a pretty constant connection with this ex-girlfriend who he complained sounded like Fran Drescher on crack. We’re talking a 33 year old man who’s mother would check in on us constantly in his room to make sure we were not “commiting sin” in her home. I mean, I’m a fucking 32 year old woman, and when I finally came to my senses, this was the most persistant memory to convince myself that he was in no way ready for (and neither was his mother) a mature life which included mature relationships. His immaturity was screaming at me the whole time, but mine was unwilling to recognize it.

Lesson Number 429-Here’s my evaluation, in no way professional, of the immature mind and Mountain Dew. I believe Mountain Dew is the nectar of life which immature males (and females) subsist on because it tastes the way they feel and gives validation to their unworthy existence. I’m not going to lie, Mountain Dew is delicious, but I can’t help but feel slightly guilty that I just inundated my bodily temple with more caffeine and sugar than it should have to handle on a monthly basis. But for those with no cranial capacity to care about what the cost of sugar acid has on their pancreas, it gives joy and makes them forget for a moment about their short comings. So here’s my advise for the mature male/female looking for another mature male/female to start a serious relationship with. If your Mr./Mrs. Right drinks more Mountain Dew than the FDA advises, walk away. If they can’t respect their bodily temple, how is it possible they can respect your emotional well being?

Do not mistake. I have known and worked with friends and professionals who I would not discount as being highly evolved and mature individuals who enjoy this refreshing sludge `on a time to time basis. But these individuals will typically buy diet or ask to split their rations with others. So if you are dating someone or know someone who indulges their Mountain Dew cravings but only every now and then, there is no need for an intervention. Like I said..some crazy scientist got us hooked for a reason. It’s just human nature why we feel the need to indulge into some liquid cancer every now and then.

(P.S. Please forgive any errors you notice regarding this composition. Charlotte Grant, Best Friend and editor, was out of town this weekend.)

Think with your brain, not your vaginal penis

50's myra breckinridgeI would have to say I just may be living proof that a woman does think with her vaginal penis. I can’t tell you how many bad decisions I’ve made based on what “that” is thinking versus my brain, well I can’t tell you what my brain was doing or saying because I wasn’t paying attention. My vaginal penis has caused me to engage in vaudeville behavior with male clients, male co-workers, unemployed males, alcoholic males, drug addict males, and males with felony records. Surprisingly enough, many of my indiscretions have come back to bite me in the ass repeatedly. Case in point… back in my early career while working for a prestigious local corporation I started a tawdry affair with our investment representative (“Class A a-hole“). Thinking back on it now I’m pretty sure I started it simply because of my attention whorishness nature but it took shape into what it was..weekends of pretty fantastic coitus, drinking, and watching him gamble on the internet. There was no real connection and as such it fizzled pretty quickly, much to my disbelief and dismay. I was then forced to withstand nights at the office where his latest conquest would show up and “class A a-hole“, all smiles with flowers waiting, would greet these conquests while I looked on wondering where the hell I went wrong.

Let’s Fast forward a few years now, shall we? Here I am newly employed with a new corporation possessing all renewed hope and ambition which would dwindle after a few years time. Imagine walking in and there in the corner office is Class A a-hole who just so happens to be this office’s investment representative. Only this time married with a baby on the way. Now I’m faced with the reality again that this man not only used and abused my youthful sexual prowess, he easily moved on and actually married some chick who cannot be that unlike me.

Back to my initial point, if I had kept my vaginal penis in check all those many years ago I would not have been subjected to the reality of the rejection felt many times over. Although I reveled in sideways glances and tongue-in-check remarks from him over this time period, it in no way completely satisfied my want of revenge. In layman’s terms, the dream of being pulled by him into an office and have him pour out his feelings for me after all these years never happened. And I’m still bitter about it.

On the flip side I can testify I encountered a Vivianesque hooker-like extraordinaire who I enjoyed a very positive working relationship with for a few years. “Vivian” had mastered the vaginal penis concept and used it in conjunction with her brain and was very successful at it. Vivian understood the art of professional seduction which was the key to making her sales position very lucrative for herself and also the corporation. Vivian successfully seduced both men and women alike. She found no shame in dressing like a heroin addicted professional prostitute with a condom in every boot and only slightly strayed from the dress code enough to be detected, but ultimately overlooked by management. Vivian never ever allowed herself to be lazy and go without her make-up and dutifully aqua netted her hair daily, even if she may have felt like saying screw it. I found, to my amazement, people ate it up. Not only did they find her pleasing to the eye, but she was able to tantalize them with this non-conservative appearance and personality, which tends to be highly unacceptable in this conservative industry. When I asked her what her secret was she was very mum about it. Smart..given it was her talent design that if copied and if her strategy worked for another, it would interfere with her profits. She did share with me this piece however “Flirt with them..tell them they’re sexy and compliment a woman on a piece of jewelry or a man on his choice of shirt that day. I guarantee they will buy whatever you are selling and thank you for it.” Vivian also had the mental ability to maintain a high energy level and never back down to a “no“. She could have also been high on cocaine or hydroxycut everyday. Anything’s possible.

Lesson Number 53 and 469- Let’s revisit lesson 53 and what I learned via Class A a-hole. I’m convinced if I had kept my vaginal penis in check all those years ago at the office I would have been able to spare myself the agony of yet another failed relationship. My conclusion is your vaginal penis has no place in the work place. However, I would say your vaginal penis is essential, as explained before, if you can incorporate it with your brain to make you successful in your position. Do not, I repeat Do NOT, consort with your male/female coworkers or clients in a sexual manner. Just sexual enough to make money where bodily fluids are not exchanged. If you do however decide to not heed my advice and swap fluids anyway, the chances of it ending happily ever after has a smaller percentage rate than me contracting prostate cancer. I don’t know that for sure sounds about right.