I'm not your bitch, don't hang your shit on me.

Thursday, January 12, 2017

Don't text me when I'm busy

It's one of those busy days when I'm out of the office, running around the city.  Not only am I dealing with in-person meetings, but also phone calls and an inbox that never seems empty.  Fun times all around.

While making my way to a meeting, I get a text from L, who is asking about an event we went to last year and wants to know when they're having it again.  Then, there are two more texts following it, both about the same thing.

"Try emailing XXX." I text this while walking.

I'm busy and don't have time to check last year's schedule to verify an event she wants to go to.  It's a lot faster for her to email them.  I'm not planning the event.  I mean, come on; do some of the lifting.

My phone keeps beeping while in the meeting.  I get three more texts from L about the event, scattered with the occasional "I miss you friend" and "Let's get together next week one week one afternoon."  This is from a person who doesn't reply to texts for weeks, and sometimes gets - serendipitously - sick on the day we're meeting only to get miraculously better the following morning.

"I'm running around all day.  Best to email them for details."  I text quickly.

This happens during my work day.  I only get a reply from L in the middle of the evening.

"You are so difficult sometimes!  LOL."

Difficult?  Hardly.  I have more than one full-time job, manage a team of people, run around from meeting to meeting while tackling the occasional errand (all without the luxury of a car or an expense account that reimburses me for cab fares).  She doesn't work and has plenty of time during the day while her kids are at school to email an event coordinator.

And an additional annoyance is the "don't worry still love you!" notation tacked on the end of the occasional text.  Don't do that.  Only Hollywood people do that.  It's cloying and unnecessary.

Here's an idea:  For next time, instead of texting me 18 times, it's faster for you to email them from the start to get the correct information.  Don't waste my time when I'm busy with your texting.

I mean, some people...

Thursday, December 15, 2016

Unfriending your friends to parent your pets

For those who know me know that I like pets even though I don't currently have any.  That being said, I treat them like a pet, not a person (although it's not a popular opinion among animal lovers).

In short, a pet doesn't talk, is covered in fur/feathers, doesn't vote or pay taxes.  Not too long ago they were regulated to the outdoors, but ever since they've been - super - domesticated, they've lived the life of riley, with many people raising them as if they're children.

My friend Z is the embodiment of this kind of pet person.

Even though she's passive-aggressive to most things in life, she's more caring than what she lets on.  Her pets have meant a lot to her (this stems from abandonment issues related back to her absentee father who later left the family and divorced her mother), and that's an issue.  She's far too attached to them.

She's bailed several times over her pets.  One dog of hers was never healthy from the time she adopted it from the pound (it has acupuncture, physical therapy, and even takes the occasional dose of anti-anxiety medication), so she stresses over it.  She's a parent to her pets.  And because of this, the dog takes precedence over most things in her life - especially human relationships.

And while pets offer "unconditional love" (I don't believe this since there are many pets that are real bitches), they're not the ones who will date you, be there for an emergency, answer the phone when you need help, or tell you when you look good in that pair of pants (even if you look fat in them).

When you're always pushing people aside for the sake of your pet, they feel neglected and begin to fade away from your life.  They shouldn't be surprised when they realize they no longer have any friends when they put their pets first.

Monday, October 10, 2016

Nickel and dime

Recently, a friend and I went on a trip and it was agreed to use her Uber account to curtail on pricey cab fares.  After the trip, we'd split the fares evenly and I'd write a cheque for my half.  Approximately a month after we return, I get an email with the invoices (as per my request) to reimburse her.

To my surprise, the amount was way, way larger than anticipated.  In fact, it was impossible that we took 12 Ubers in two days (this doesn't include the rides I took by myself on the same trip).  How was that even possible?

Being the part-time accountant that I am, I go through every charge, item by item, and add up the numbers. To my surprise, I see my friend overcharged me by almost $50.  She included rides that I wasn't even on in the cluster of charges and thought I wouldn't notice.  I noticed.  Oh yeah, I noticed.

Presumably, she saw all the invoiced rides with Uber in the heading - over a spread of several days - and added them together.  That was her mistake.  I wasn't going to let it be mine.  But, since we're both adults, I was going to let this go and pay for my half.
To start, I removed the extra charges that had nothing to do with me, then I removed half of the charges she shared with me (i.e. cab fares), added them up, divided the amount in half, multiplied it by 1.5 (rather than the actual US exchange rate of approximate 1.35, because I was feeling generous) than rounded up the number by a few dollars.

In the end, she ended up getting more than she should've received, as per the correct calculations.

Not long after she collects the cheque (she wanted me to personally deliver it, but I wasn't going to travel 45 minutes - 1.5 hours if you include return travel - to the other side of the city), I got a passive-aggressive text a week later that referred to my accounting practices.

In the text, phrases like "I wouldn't try to nickel and dime you my friend" and "money issues break up way too many friendships" are thrown about.

My reaction was WTF.  I don't reply.  She got her money.  I was done.

When I meet my sister the next week for lunch, I tell her about what happened.  Then I show her the text.

"Whatever." She rolls her eyes.  "Are all of your friends idiots?" She passes the phone back to me.

I don't know, but I certainly wouldn't nickel and dime them.

Wednesday, September 14, 2016

Gold digger's accomplishments

On more than one occasion I've heard of people talk about their accomplishments.  Brag is a more appropriate definition, though.

It's all about the big house they live in, the luxury car they drive, the designer clothes they wear, the exotic trips they take, the four-star restaurants they eat at, and so on.  The #blessed hashtags basically write themselves on social media.

The thing is, none of this would've happened if they weren't dating (or married) someone with a lot more money then they have.

All of these people mentioned in the generalist of terms has a richer partner is the one who pays for everything.  True, when it comes to partnerships, one person usually makes more than the other; it's never a marriage of equals.  But, when one person makes 4x the income of the other, it's another story.  Inevitably, you'll hear the - defensive - story of when the couple who went out to dinner and less affluent one paid the tab.  That's a tiny drop in very large bucket, to be honest.

Of course, not everyone is like that.  Some happened to date/marry another person who has money.  Others, make it a goal to date/marry another person who has money.  Who knew that being a gold digger with an agenda is an accomplishment?

Wednesday, August 10, 2016

The human embodiment of the Exxon Valdez oil spill

For the launch of patio season, many bars and restaurants host small parties to celebrate the fact that many people - especially those who don't live in cities with long summers - have been hibernating for the past 6-8 months and are excited to get some sun with a side of rum and coke.

After my friend J and I enjoy a few too many cocktails on the patio, we walk towards the exit and run into J's Russian friend.  She's standing with an older man, dressed like a captain of a yacht (navy blazer, white dress shirt, opened midway down his torso) only without the jaunty cap and a lot more gold chains and grease in his hair.

As the Russian turns her attention away from the grease captain and towards me, he leans toward her, his face inches from mine, and says to her, "You can do better."

Ballsy, yet incredibly rude.

"Well, I just heard that," I say loud enough for our group to hear.

"Yes, that was rude," says the Russian.

With that comment still lingering in the hot summer air, the three of us (J, the Russian and myself) turn around and walk away from the human embodiment of the Exxon Valdez oil spill.  We talk for a few minutes before I head out.  When you're drinking for over two hours and don't have a thing to eat, your body reminds you it's time to call it quits.

Before I head off, I lean into the Russian and say, "By the way, you look amazing in that dress."

"Oh, thank you." She's flattered.  That's something that greaseball wasn't able to do.  It doesn't matter, though.  As I walk out, I notice he quickly found another group of hot women to hit on.

Tuesday, July 05, 2016

I did not get plastic surgery

It's a balmy night and my friend D and I are sitting on his rooftop patio having a drink.  We've been talking for the past half-hour about work, but in the middle of our conversation about something, he leans forward, about to say something and semi-pauses.  He's cautious.

"I have to ask you something and I hope you won't be offended," he asks.

"Ok," I sit back.  I was expecting something lurid, but it was close to it.

"Have you had any..." he does a finger gesture for a needle injecting and points it to his forehead.

"Work done?"

"Yeah, have you had any Botox, or anything?"

"Nope.  I mean, I would like to have some for my 11s, but I haven't done anything."  The 11s are the two parallel lines between the brows that can be deep if someone furrows their forehead a lot.


I nod.

"You don't have any wrinkles," he says.

"If you think I look good, you should look at my dad.  He never used anything, or sunscreen, and he probably has a few lines on his face."

"Ahhh, genetics."  D leans back in his chair.

While some people are offended if they're asked about their plastic surgery, I'd be one of those to tell everyone what I'd done (not to mention talk about the experience in detail).  But when my face falls, I'll find a way to pull it back up.  Time to put away some money for an emergency slush fund.

Wednesday, June 01, 2016

You should water your plants

Last year was the first time I had some greenery on my patio.  In previous years it was barren; no plants, no pots, no nothing.  Last year I bought some trees and potted flowers (I'm not allowed to dig into the concrete).  It looked great and I loved sitting outside surrounded by nature, rather than glass and steel.

Unfortunately, even though the plants were all designed to tolerate sun, they weren't designed to tolerate the amount of south-facing sun they received.  Last year was a dry year, and coupled with 12-hour days of - mostly - direct sunlight, left them... parched.

"They wouldn't have died if you watered them," is what my father said, repeatedly, after I told him I was buying new greenery for my patio. 

"I had direct sunlight for a full day and I watered them daily," was my stock answer.

"You should water your plants," he'd say.

"I did water them," I'd reply.

"No, you didn't because they died."

"Do you really think I'd spend the entire summer not watering the plants?"

"They died, didn't they?"

This conversation loop continued for weeks.

After purchasing new plants, I hear my father say the same thing:  "Make sure you water your plants this time, or else they'll die."

If they do die, I'll make sure to buy plastic ones for next year.