Monthly Archives: March 2016

Trapped in a Group Chat Part 1

Almost two years ago, I worked a temp job and made some new acquaintances. Innocent enough, right? Well little did I know that the people I’d acquainted with were good friends with each other.

Fast forward to a few months after the job ended. I was invited to brunch by my former colleagues and then invited into a group chat to keep me abreast of future brunches.

Why not? I said.

This will be fun! I said.

So now I am mired in an endless whirlpool of mundane texts.

At first it was okay. Someone would post something and I’d respond with a “Cool!” or “Congrats!” or whatever was appropriate.

My phone would beep a few times and I’d check the chat to see what was going on.

Next thing you know, it’s beeping every three seconds. I look down at my phone and see 12 or 13 unread messages. If I went to the  movie theater or some other place that required me to silence my phone, I’d turn my phone back on only to see fifty-something unread messages.

On top of this, it didn’t take long for me to lose interest in the chat conversations in the first place. For example, the chat has turned into a kind of career-centric circle jerk of encouragement. And while I enjoy encouragement (and would probably enjoy a good circle jerk if I had a penis and was into that sort of thing) the career stuff is annoying after a while.

It’s an endless “keeping my fingers crossed” for whoever has a job interview that week. And my chat group might as well be called the “Professional Job Interview Gang”.

Here’s an example of what it looks like:

Person #1 – I got a job interview this week!

Person #2 – Congrats!

Person #3 – Congrats!

Person #4 – Congratulations!

Person #5 – Oh my goodness! That’s wonderful! Where at?

Person #1 – Don’t congratulate me yet!

Person #4 – Is this at the same place as before?

Person #2 – Is it at Corporation Company?

Person #1 – It’s at Conglomerate Industry

Person #3 – We should celebrate!

Person #4 – I thought you interviewed there before?

Person #1 – No it’s not at Corporation Company. I didn’t get that job.

Person #5 – Their loss buddy!

Person #3 – Oh boo!

Person #1 – Thanks guys! This is actually round 2. So we’ll see how it goes.

Person #2 – So wait, you didn’t get the job at Corporation Company? I thought they liked you? 😦

Person #1 – Nope. But onto better things!

Person #3 – Guess what everybody?? I have an interview next week with Business Incorporated.

Person #1 – What? That’s awesome!

Person #5 – Wait, what happened to Career Enterprises??

Person #2 – Congratulations!

And the cycle continues. It was as if I was being punished for my honest attempt at extraversion. It got to the point where my phone was beeping and vibrating so much that it threatened my damn marriage.

Fortunately, I discovered the mute button last week.

However, my complete “text withdrawal” from the group created slight confusion and disruption. The natives got restless. And to be honest, how they even knew I wasn’t actively texting is beyond me. It’s not like I offered anything substantial to the group outside of a few “Congrats!” and “Fingers Crossed.” I never told them about my job interviews or networking experiences even though I’d actually had a few.

Either way, someone said “Where’s Peggy?” and the jig was up. So my solution was to occasionally dip into the chat with a “Congrats!” so they’d know I was still alive and then delete that chat right off my phone – for the sake of space.

HOWEVER . . . the fact that I don’t actually read the texts got the best of me two days ago. All I know is that one day I saw a message that said “Peggy has been removed from the group chat.” The part of me that cares about not burning bridges was curious as to why. I did the mindless participation that was required of me, didn’t I?

It’s funny I didn’t care about the group until I got kicked off. But being kicked off was really weighing on my spirit. So I called a person from the group to ask what’d happened.

They laughed and asked me if I was serious.

I told them yes.

They invited me to dinner.



Passion Aggressive – A Love Story

So yeah the title of this blog post may seem, I don’t know, sexual or whatever, but it’s not. Yes, it’s a story of passion. Yes, there’s a bit of aggression but it’s so much more . . .

Sike, nah . . . this story ain’t shit.

So here’s the thing, I work in a regular office work environment. You know a bunch of people doing their jobs and shit. And today I happened to have an interesting situation.

After weeks of being *target-ignored by one of my more passive aggressive coworkers, I decided to get her attention by being weird. It wasn’t that I needed her for anything in particular. I just don’t like people thinking they can be indirectly moody and angsty toward me without repercussions. Aaaaand, it was clear that she was directing her moody, “fart-cloud” behavior toward me. Aaaand we had a three day weekend coming up, so I needed my weirdness to be potent enough to marinate in her brain over the holiday.

So anyway, I used what I had at my disposal.

Here’s what I had on hand:

  • My weirdness – it used to be my most annoying attribute, now it’s my greatest tool
  • The fact that she desperately wants my attention (she glances over at me a lot when she thinks I don’t notice)

Here’s what I did. I waited for a time when she would glance over at me and locked eyes with her. Then I held on, staring in her direction until she couldn’t ignore me. Staring a hole through the wall behind her head. When she finally was forced to acknowledge my laser beam eyes, I signaled for her to come over. She took a deep breath and just stared ahead as if deciding what to do.

Very smart move on her part.

The bulging eyes. The smile on my face. I was clearly up to no good.

And being passive aggressive comes with strategy so she had to think this through.

But in the name of appearing normal (which seems to be important to people these days) she takes another deep breath and finally scoots out from her desk. She walks slowly, verrrry slowly in the direction of my cubicle area.

She makes pitstops at every desk on her way over. I guess this was the part where I was supposed to wonder, “Is she coming? Is she coming?”

Well played, ma’am.

I didn’t give a shit, but still . . . well played. (strokes chin hairs)

She smiles and talks to everybody until she runs out of desks.

Suddenly, she meets my eyes again. It’s just me and her. I smile and wave. My enthusiasm ever green. Her face drops into a frown of disgust as she shuffles toward me, finally arriving at the halfway point between our desks – I like to call it the point of no return.

. . . and so I get up and go to the bathroom.

So I guess in this hilariously non-confrontational, unspoken language of passive aggression, what I did was like an act of war. But you know it’s safe, office-y, diet war so nobody dies and if you’re a clown who takes nothing seriously – like yours truly – it’s kinda fun.

…And vee shall do ze dance of luvahs!

Told y’all this story ain’t shit.



*Target-ignored is when someone singles you out in order to ignore you or when they rudely reply to your questions/attempts at human conversation with monotoned, one word answers.


Bear Necessities

So whilst watching The Nightly Show on Comedy Central last night – they were doing a sketch where one of the women comedians danced around in a bear costume –  I wistfully mumbled something out loud. Didn’t even realize I’d done it. It was actually like I sighed out some words. My husband asked what I was talking about.

I said, “wha-huh? I didn’t say anything.”

Him: Yes, you did. You said ‘I wish I had that job.’

Me: . . .

Him: What job do you wish you had?

Then it all came back to me. For a split second I’d wished that my job was to dress up in that very bear costume (the costume completely hides the face, of course) and dance with people.

Not sure if that’s a low point, but it’s definitely a bad sign. Time to get cracking on these scripts.

1 out of 5 Stars, Two Thumbs Down

If rather than being OUR ACTUAL LIVES, the Donald Trump run for President was a fictional, dramatic script that was pitched to my production company, I would find it amusing but would turn it down. I would say, the Trump character is two dimensional and evil but not in a complex way. His supporters seem unbelievably stupid and hateful, making it hard to sympathize with or for them. I would say that the characters’ debates aren’t grounded in reality because bringing up penis size seems a little far fetched in a serious political film unless the movie is a screwball comedy – in which case, the over-the-top hair and orange tan would make perfect sense for the story’s villain. I would tell the writer to try to figure out if they want to re-write this as a screwball comedy or a sobering social commentary in which case, they’d need to tone down the exaggerated elements that threaten to turn the film into a preachy, paranoid, doomsday conspiracy-theory laden cautionary tale. I would also say that it seems like the writer didn’t do enough research about political language and should probably include some law jargon, realistic campaign speeches and political diplomacy in some of the scenes so that we can believe the characters as actual presidential candidates.

…so yeah, two thumbs down. Absurd, preachy and not believable.

Smondays and how to cope

There’s something about Sunday night that’s even worse than Monday itself. Maybe it’s that stomach turning feeling of knowing that Monday is breathing down your fucking neck.

It happens around 5 o’clock. The sun is sitting just a smidge lower in the sky. Maybe you turn on a light or two in your home. Start to watch all of the shows you DVR’ed on TV. Start counting down how much time you have until bed time.

That’s what kicks me in the groin… the countdown. Nothing more depressing than preparing for captivity by trying to squeeze all of your life’s freedom into a few hours. And once 9 o’clock hits… it doesn’t matter if you’re bed time is 10pm or 4am, you are beyond “Smonday” and have hit full blown deep depression.

I don’t really know why I called this article “…how to cope.” Hell if I know.


Yeah . . . just drink!



Poor little poor girl . . . a bit about me

I once asked an ex boyfriend if he grew up poor. He looked at me like I had two heads and replied, “kids don’t know if they’re poor. They’re too busy having fun.” I quietly nodded but yeah . . . no. Nothing could be further from the truth. When I was a kid, I knew for a fact that my family was poor. No lie, I have documented evidence – via my diary – where I actually recorded the words “I’m growing up poor right now”. I don’t remember the exact age that I figured it out for the first time but I knew got-dammit. I knew.

For years I’ve attempted to escape what seems to be my destiny – a life of wondering what it’s like to have a savings account. I’ve done everything you can imagine from praying that Satan the devil tests me with tons of money to taking out a ton of student loan debt in order to attend an expensive private college and obtain a master’s degree in a lucrative and creative profession. Haha . . . yeah, I know!

So I’m currently working in Hollywood as an assistant. No creativity and no money. But at the very least, slavery is over so that means I’m allowed to read, write and go home at the end of a long day to share with you, oh gentle reader, my magical journey of desperation, confusion, frustration, happiness, poverty, opinions and funny anecdotes. And occasionally, some recipes . . . maybe.