The more things change…

Posted by High Priestess Kang as LOL Douchebags, Observations

…the more they don’t.

So here’s what’s been on my pea-sized brain lately…

My fellow high school chums are starting to network on FecesBook.  Allow me to say that high school, in general, was not one of the higher points in my life for a list of reasons tl/td to even address.  So happy was I to get the phuck out of there, I passed on any/all possibilities to go out and get teenage-wasted and managed to beat my parents back to the house post commencement.

Anyhoooo…getting in touch with some of my fellow asylum inmates has been a blast.  Truly.  I’m thrilled to learn that so many are happy and doing well with their lives.

On the other hand - I have come to the sick realization that some people simply will not evolve.  And I find that tragically sad, particularly given the fact that I graduated from the loony-bin 19 years ago.

Now, as most are aware, my first recourse would be to make a total mockery of them.  After all, if you’re so intellectually stunted that you want to revisit drama from 19 years ago, you’re asking for it.  Not only do I deem that free therapy (out of the kindness of my cold heart) but I feel it’s my public obligation to out tossers.  That and I derive a perverse pleasure from rubbing someone’s face in their own poo.

As it stands, I’m keeping mum.  For now.  Watching the train slowly wreck.  It wasn’t worth my time in 1989 and I don’t think it’s worth my time in 2008.

Then again - there is always that fit of boredom that drives me to do very, very naughty things on the internets.

When Dock Ellis graduated from high school, he flipped off his entire graduating class and lobbed his mortarboard at the principal (I had, erroneously, relayed to a friend that it was the superintendent.  He did not hurl his cap at him, he simply rebuked a handshake).  Once he was done making his statement, he left commencement early, diploma in hand and zero desire to return to the past.

If it wasn’t for the fact that some of the people I grew up with weren’t right cool - I should be doing the same.

Candid (Commuter) Camera

Posted by High Priestess Kang as Observations

Traffic has been sheer hell in this area for the past week. I’m not sure what happens, but about every three or four months, the commuters of the Raleigh-Durham Metro area lodge their heads up their asses and create all sorts of commotion on our local roadways. In no mood to deal with a hellish commute today, I opt for the back-roads, ’round the airport and through North West Raleigh to make my way home.

Lo and behold, as I’m tooling down Westgate, some asshat gardener (note: not all gardeners are asshats and not all asshats are gardeners) decides to make a right turn into flowing traffic at a snail’s pace. I slow Inga down just in time to discover that this gardening truck, which can make a turn at lightning-quickness, is moving along with the swiftness of your average 90 year-old, blue-haired lady with the blinkers flashing. Phucking lovely. I toot the horn of doom to display my disgust, pass the shithead on the left and get to a traffic light (joy!). My fun did not end there.

The next thing I know, this douchebag hops out of his gardenwagon and appears at my door! This alarms me, as I am a female and I’m not very comfortable with being approached by strange, dirty men. I lock the door and fumble for my phone. He glares into my vehicle and makes some obscene hand-gestures. Yes. I encountered a renaissance gentleman.

By the time I had the iPhone out of its Sock Monkey case, the brave, macho man had returned to his truck. So, I decided to have a little fun.

I took his picture.

Unfortunately, the iPhone doesn’t have a zoom, so I’m sort of limited with my photographic abilities. I did manage to capture this image. And…if you look closely, you can see Mr. Brave covering his face.

My goal was to snap a picture of the license plate, as well. Unfortunately for me, Mr. Brave realized I was a little savvier than he had estimated and dropped far back into traffic so I couldn’t return the favor of ass-banditry.

:sighs:

I have decided that I’m going to start snapping photos of random asshats in vehicles for lulz. Just because.

Consider it the new, “up-skirting.” “Kang’s Handy-Dandy Guide to Douchebags on the Road in Raleigh.”

Very angry people…

Posted by High Priestess Kang as Observations

…design packaging materials.

I gobble Prilosec on a daily basis. Some days, I take a Benadryl. Both are packaged in those ridiculous, plastic bubble packs with the paper on the back. The manufacturers try to help the feeble-minded consumer by printing an arrow and making the packaging scored.

This does not work.

Every morning, I try to open the Prilosec. The only thing that I accomplish is tearing off fragments of thin paper which manage to make their way to my floors, combining with the tumbleweeds of animal fur. I cannot pick them up because they run away from me, laughing. The only thing I can do is attack the blister pack with a knife. A sharp knife. A sharp knife which will, one day, send me to the ER with a gushing wound inches deep.

I cannot figure out why the designers of this sort of packaging hate humanity so much. I could not begin to fathom what happened to them when they were children. Perhaps they were bullied on the school-yard?

The worst part is that I cannot boycott these products. I need to have the Prilosec. I need the Benadryl for the occasional allergic reaction. I’m screwed.

I need to figure out a way to even the score. Perhaps I’ll send all the blister packs back to the manufacturer with a nice note telling them to phuck the phuck off.

Another group of very angry people is IATA. I believe they are the assholes responsible for developing all routes for air travel. You know, the ones who had the brilliant idea of routing me through Chicago, in January, on my way to Sweden (leave Raleigh and fly due north west to go north east). This brain fart left me rotting on the tarmac in Chicago for three and a half hours because of some snow flurries. Yay!

I think they also might be the assholes who decide to land my plane at the very end of the airport and making me traverse the entire airport in a half-hour, trudging along a purse and my laptop.

Lastly - gate agents. I’m torn with about this nomination for Very Angry People since my father-in-law works for an airline. However, these must be some of the angriest motherphuckers I have ever met in my life. As I run (or do my version of running) for a flight that I’m typically on the verge of missing, I find myself at the desk, panting and wheezing. They see this and say, “Relax.” Relax? Relax? As I spewed at the lovely gate agents in JFK, “I’m a phucking asthmatic! Talk to me when you cannot breath you motherphucker.” Surprisingly enough, my bags always seem to arrive with me.

Alas…that’s my rant for today.

People are very angry. They make me very angry. Then I become a very angry person.

And so it goes.

Rape the Grocery Store!

Posted by High Priestess Kang as Observations

Aaaaah…the threat of, “winter weather” is hovering over the Triangle.  According to the weather folks, Raleigh is due to receive a dusting to a 1/2″ of snow and/or 1/10″ of ice.  You know what this means….

BUY ALL THE BREAD, WATER AND CANNED GOODS YOU CAN!!!

I had to go to the grocery store today because…I was out of food.  Perhaps I picked the worst possible time of the day or it was the perfect storm of idiots descending upon the Harris Teeter to stock up on non-perishables.  Egad.  People standing in the middle of the aisles, staring aimlessly at food while having drool trickle out the side of their mouths.  People meandering with their damn buggies.  People dragging their knuckles and grunting.

Winter weather in the South is cause for mass hysteria.

Yes.  Everyone *must* hurry off to the store and buy food.  After that, they high-tail it to the Home Depot to buy a proper shovel and a generator.

What really gets me is the driving. 

Our roads are not well maintained in the winter.  Since winter weather is rare, the muncipalities do not have many, “Scrapers” (they’re called snow plows, motherphuckers).  What we do have is trucks spreading brine on the roads. 

We also have our fair share of moronic drivers.  Drivers who think that they can drive on ice because they own a four wheel drive, suburban assault vehicle.  Drivers who cannot understand what went wrong when they skid off the road into a telephone pole or ditch.

The, “natives” oft ask me why I refuse to leave the house during inclement weather.  “Y’all grew up up North.  What’s the problem.”

I shall tell you the problem.

Up North, the roads are maintained.  Up North, most of us do not drive in treachorous conditions.  Up North, we use our phucking brains.

I spent six years working for an idiot who thought he was immune to the forces of nature because he drove a Toyota RoadRunner (or whatever the phuck you call it).  A good, old boy who just couldn’t grasp the concept that his RoadRunner wasn’t going to deliver him safely to his destination.  Out of spite he would offer me rides to work.  Now…if I’m not comfortable with driving myself (after living for six years in the Snow Belt of Western Pennsylvania), why would I compromise my physical well-being to share a ride with this inept lunatic?

Aaaaah…I digress.

I have hunkered down with my obligatory loaf of bread and bag of kitty litter.  I’m ready.  Bring it on.

And…if you need me, I’ll be laughing at your sorry asses tomorrow morning while watching the news from the comfort of my warm, cozy home.

The great cultural divide…

Posted by High Priestess Kang as Observations

…is no more evident to me than election time.

Nothing seems to make me feel more like an outsider in The South than an election. It’s hard. It’s hard work being a Yankee in The South. And, don’t allow yourself to be fooled into complacency, you will *never* fit in.

Be it your nasal vowel sounds, be it the way you know how to properly cross a busy street or your lust for proper bread, good sandwiches and pizza - you will always be branded a Yankee. That is what the, “Southerners” want you to remember. Your ancestors came, saw and burned The South. Raped, pillaged and plundered the land. For that you must pay. You must pay by having people talk nicely to your face then speak venom behind your back. You must pay for not going to church. You must pay for not wanting the bible in your school. You must pay because you see something other than the great, white way.

This has been eating at me for quite a few weeks, when I happened across a blog piece about Yankees at Christmas.

Were you aware that Yankees are the only people in the world who like tacky Christmas decorations? That’s right. Yankees love them some tacky-ass Christmas decorations. All Yankees. It must remind us of when we set Georgia on fire and it brings back fond memories, I’m sure.

What I don’t get is this - why the hell does it matter?

After living in the South for eleven years, I no longer identify myself as being from anywhere in particular. I grew up in suburban Philadelphia, lived in western Pennsylvania and did a very brief stint in Sweden. I hated Philadelphia, which is why I left. In Western Pennsylvania, I was an outsider because of my white-collar ways (although, I hasten to add, there were enough Jews around that I never felt fully freakish). But in The South, a Yankee is still a scourge. A plague. Part of the never ending punishment inflicted upon these good, Southern folks for some cruel reason. A cruel twist of fate.

I may whinge about the things I miss from home. But, like anyone else, that’s my entitlement. I’m allowed to miss some of the creature comforts from my home. Southerners would certainly miss their barbecues, gardening and proper porches if they relocated elsewhere.

Unfortunately, Yankees (and you must say this with an odious amount of contempt) are not permitted to have any part of their roots. They must relinquish their entire identity in order to fit in.

Pah.

And…if you’re a super-shifty Yankee, you certainly will refrain from talking about anything remotely Liberal in public. You will do this so people will not challenge your, ‘liberalism.’ You will do this so you don’t have to hear the audacious commentary about someone praying for your condemned souls. You will do this so you just don’t have to deal with the bullshit and explain yourself.

I have been meaning to write about this for several weeks now. Not sure what erupted the ire today. Perhaps it is the incessant babble about the upcoming Primary in South Carolina. Where Yankee mettle and values are going to be pitted against good, ol’ Southern ways. A female and a black man are leading the Democrats. The usual mentality is going to be challenged and the pundits are going to make damn sure we understand the gravity of the situation.

I pine for the days of living up North at times. I pine for the days when people are just phucking people, not measured by which church they worship, how long the family has been in the area and other completely banal subcategories which really don’t mean jack-shit at the end of the day.

Sometimes, sometimes I wonder if I feel disenfranchised as an American because of general politics or based solely on geography.

Babyboomers

Posted by High Priestess Kang as Observations, Op/Ed

…also known as the most narcissistic generation of all time.

Because there is absolutely nothing on television tonight, the remote finds itself to the Hitler History Channel. Tom Brokaw’s documentary, 1968, is airing.

As a history buff, I will watch a respectable documentary (hold the dramatic reenactments, kplzthnx) about mostly anything. I qualify that because I really don’t want to watch the Civil War documentary cooking show, “Sherman’s cookin’ with fa-fa-fire!”

Back to the documentary. All you need to know is that it is the usual pandering, self-service drivel that is spoon fed to the Babyboomers. Advertising wonks and bored businessmen do this periodically, typically when they cannot find that extra benjamin in their wallet, to shake down some middle aged, arthritic, weekend warrior. I mean…let’s be realistic…we’re running out of ways to exploit this generation. How much lower can we go than Erectile Dysfunction drugs and therapies for Restless Leg Syndrome?

A commercial break, or reprieve, comes on. Lo and behold, it’s an advertisement catering directly to the Babyboomers; an internet community called, “Boomertowne.com” (and I quote from the commercial, “that’s town with an E!”). Out of morbid curiosity, I load the tripe. It’s cartoonish, a la The Jetsons. It’s geared towards - you guessed it - history’s greatest narcissists and looks to be some sort of irrelevant FaceBook for a quickly becoming irrelevant group of people (much to their chagrin). Naturally this website is supported by advertisements for Levitra.

Throughout the cycles of generations, there is one that typically gets lost. The, “Modern” era’s answer to that is Generation X. Surly. Snarky. Bitter. Pessimistic. Jaded. My generation (No, g-ddammit - not that shitty song by The Who). I’m not jealous that my generation is going to be the one that is overlooked. I’m relieved.

I’m relieved because I’m not going to be a shell of my former greatness, a cartoon, a mockery, a giant cliche, a monument to morphing into what one so bitterly resented as a child.

I could go on about my absolute disgust for the Boomers. I could. I just don’t want to.

But one last thing - Boomertowne, like the people it embodies, slowed down my laptop and caused the browser to crash. How fitting.

You want something to complain about???

Posted by High Priestess Kang as Observations, Tentacle Wagging

…I’ll give you something to complain about, then!

Far be it from me to deny someone the right to anything.

When I was growing up, my father used to use that line. Had he not been grinding his teeth, on the verge of snapping after trying to reason with a child, I would have thought more about what that sentence means. But no…I just took that as a strong message to straighten up and fly right or face draconian measures.

As I aged, when I heard that, I would roll my eyes. Because…it’s something utterly lame to hear. Utterly lame to say.

Today I learned why people say that.

I have the misfortune of dealing with a very unpleasant creature consistently enough where she has become the virtual thorn in my side. No…wait…I should rather have a real thorn in my side that deal with this person. I’m not exactly sure where the communications turned awry but I have been told that it is *all* my fault. :lowers head in shame:

Whenever I see emails flutter into my email box from this person, the bile rises in my throat. Whenever I hear her voice, my toes curl. I don’t like her. Fortunately, I don’t have to like her. I won’t die if I don’t like her. Nothing traumatic will happen if I don’t like her. However, I need to figure out a way to deal with her.

Today, instead of smiling through the pain or taking an, “Oh…I’m so sorrrrrrry” posture, I decided (granted it has been a few months of eating this person’s shit) to feed it back. Not in a negative way. Not in an angry way. I did it in the way that annoys the hell out of everyone. I fed her her own words. Her own words in her own poorly constructed sentences. I did it because I could no longer play the role of diplomatic author. I did it because I am absolutely tired of the incessant negativity and the lack of respect exhibited. I did it because it was my last resort.

I gave her something to complain about.

Herself.

Henry encourages me to be an empath and consider the other person’s position and feelings. I try to employ this wisdom on a daily basis, particularly when a situation is tense. For some reason, be it that I’m blind with rage, entirely fed up with this woman’s on going shenanigans or utter lack of respect, I really didn’t think about her position. I really don’t care about her position. It’s hard to be an empath towards someone who makes you out to be a hell-cat, a problem, the reason why people are hungry, whales are dying and tuna keeps getting caught in dolphin net with very little to substantiate and support her position.

It’s easy to make judgment calls when you have no data. Maybe something horrendous is happening to the shrew.?. What the shrew doesn’t realize is that not everything is sunny in KangWorld, either. And her shitty attitude, snarky posture and tattle-tale ways are not doing anything to help the situation. All that it is doing is making me defensive.

And resourceful.

Thank G-d I save every email for occasions such as this. If, as a last resort, you have to hand someone’s ass to them on a plate, be absolutely sure you can do it. And, be absolutely sure you have an audience.

This rant was brought to you by the letter, “B.”  As in biatch.

Suck it…

Posted by High Priestess Kang as Observations

…or Life’s Not Fair!!!

Years ago, when I was working at Bullshit Boat Company and dealing with a mess of a procurement department, my father said to me, “You cannot buy an education this valuable.” As usual, he was absolutely right. The lessons I learned while working there were many. And priceless.

Today I started mentally running through a list of grievances in my head. Situations I find myself in through no fault of anyone but the cruel, ironic (or moronic) twist of fate. It really sucks having to navigate waters stirred by another party. Why should I feel compelled to justify myself for the sake of others? Why should I be the one stuck with the pooper-scooper, walking around, tidying up the mistakes of others? Why am I being held accountable for the actions of others?

Then I had an epiphany while gassing with a colleague a few moments ago. Life simply isn’t fair.

No matter what situation we’re in, there is going to be some asshat without visibility to the entire situation that’s going royally phuck up our worlds. It’s inadvertent, unintentional and it sucks. But, it’s life. It’s reality.

There are also instances where we find ourselves deliberately set-up to fail. Personally or professionally, this does happen. It is intentional. It is deliberate. It really sucks to know that there are some people out there who really want bad things to happen to you. And…I say…go ahead…take it personally, that’s entirely within your right. Bathe in it; just don’t prune in the bathwater.

Life isn’t fair. As a matter of fact, I think life is intentionally unfair. I think it’s a divine joke. Seriously!

If there is a G-d, his/her/its sense of humor is so dark, twisted and wicked, it makes me seem pure, decent and good hearted. The Divine being has to be either immensely twisted, spiteful or playful to inflict the crap dumped on us innocent, little lambs at times. Particularly when it comes to accountability and responsibility. Because, let’s face it, we’re always held accountable and/or responsible for shit we didn’t create.

A few days ago, someone on a forum asked, “What is the meaning/purpose of life?” I responded with, “80 + years of hell on earth followed by a restful dirt nap.”

I am completely serious.

What is wrong with us???

Posted by High Priestess Kang as Observations, Personal, The Think Tank

…or what isn’t wrong with us.

I have spent a good portion of the day pondering the commentary left in response to my, “It’s 1984 all over again” post (colleagues, management, etc… I spent a good part of the day pecking away at an RFP). Whilst, “misery makes company” I remain utterly confounded by the fact that this feeling of loathing and doom is shared by many accomplished, professional women. This begs the question, “What is wrong with us?”

Men do not appear to walk around with this secret shame, this fear of failure. Well…not overtly or not that they would ever admit to being a professional impostor, a fraud or an unwanted stuffy. There is a whiff of braggadocio as they saunter through the office, looking like King of Commerce, Lord of the Cubicle, Prince of Fluorescent Lighting, Master of the Blackberry. It may be acceptable for a man to fret when corporate right-sizing is announced, “How on earth am I to be strong like bull and provide for my barefoot and pregnant wife when I’m not earning any cabbage?” It is not, however, acceptable for men to walk around thinking, “Am I out of my league? Will I be exposed? Am I the Peter Principle personified?”

Or do they?

What components of our intrinsic nature make us women not only question our abilities, accomplishments and talents, but vocalize said wonderment? Studies have proven that women, much to the chagrin of men, do not chatter more than men. Although, we are more nurturing which may be the key in our fostering a safe forum for others to vent their spleens.

Who the phuck really knows.

Perhaps I’m not being fair to my male counterparts. Perhaps I’m creating the hackneyed tempest in a teapot in a feeble attempt to cope with my own flaws. Or…perhaps I’m on to something. It’s probably a combination of all of the previous statements. Whatever it is, I remain just as confused by the commentary of exceptionally accomplished women as I remain confused and stymied about my new job.

My friend, the economics whiz, whom I shall refer to as Adam Smith, suggested the, “Impostor Syndrome.” Adam Smith holds two degrees at the tender age of early 30s and is looking to pursue her MBA at a sub-Ivy. She is the embodiment of those women you really want to hate because not only are they truly gifted and talented, they’re nice. So nice that you cannot find it within yourself to hate them and you make sure your eyes and ears are open when in their company in the event that you might actually learn something.

Henrythepenguin, the self-made CFO, feels as if she is part of the unwanted stuffed animal club…group of professional misfits. Henry…the woman who has obtained everything through sheer determination, grit and mind-numbingly hard, hard work.

Not attempting to compare myself with the above, but I’m not exactly a professional slouch. Yes…I could apply myself a little more and not hide behind my, “artistic” temperament but even the worst boss of all time said, “When you’re on your game, there’s no one better.” He said that whilst gritting his teeth, mind you.

How much more validation do we need? From what source do we draw upon? Obviously, looking at sheepskins on the wall and beefy CVs certainly isn’t validation enough. Neither is a glowing review, a big fat raise nor a promotion.

I wonder if men really do suffer from a similar affliction. I wonder if my paragraph above was far too nasty and unfair. Or maybe men are simply preoccupied with the every fifteen second sexual thought? Or fishing. Or football. Or ball scratching.

Again. I’m being unfair. I’m being an ugly, jealous, green-eyed monster (instead of a red-eyed, green monster). I should never think of myself as suffering from penis envy. I do, however, find myself suffering from confidence envy.

This, among many other times (like dating, relationships, marriage, etc…), is one of those times where I wish I could infiltrate the male mind to gain a better understanding with respect to professional confidence. Perhaps they disguise their fears in different ways. Perhaps they fret in different ways.

Then they disappear to the bathroom for a quick wank (is it any wonder why males will not provide feedback to this post).

Alas…I’m off to exert my control through the almighty (or in the case of our currency, the alfeeble) dollar. Somewhere, out there, is a Diane von Furstenburg coat which needs to move into my closet.

I am a monument to vanity…

Posted by High Priestess Kang as Observations, Personal

Years ago, during sorority rush, the sisters of Kappa Theta Phi would engage in a silly, introduction exercise.  We would have to pick a word to describe ourselves that began with the same letter as your first name.  Given my horrible vanity, I was always, “Marnie = Mirror.”  Not as if I chose such a thing to be related to.  It simply happened that way.

Lately, I have found myself consumed with all things vapid and exceedingly unintellectual.  My internets time has been spent researching flat irons, cosmetic brushes, Spanx and cruelty free makeup.  When exhausted with the research, I spend my time trolling websites for new ideas for the wardrobe (I’m really growing tired of being a sweater and skirt girl…even if I manage to create a bit of an edge with some serious knee-high boots).  Failing all of that, I end up reading trash like TMZ or the Daily Mail.

The High Priestess is regressing.

This is annoying.

I was sincerely wishing that this phase would pass.  I spent most of the spring and summer months preoccupied with clothes and nail colour.  Manis and pedis.  As we enter into fall, I’m coming to the realization that my shallowness is not going anywhere soon.

Last night, in a feeble attempt to regenerate some brain cells, I attempted to read one of my writers’ workshop books.  The end result was my rolling my eyes at every suggestion, throwing the book across the room, smoking a cigarette and fiddling with my cuticles.

Not even the plight of those in Myanmar can save me now.

If only one could replace the spark plugs in the brain.  I wasn’t meant to be overly vain.  I wasn’t designed to focus only on the superficial.  Yet, here I am.  Overly consumed by my own ego and slightly frustrated by the fact that I haven’t managed a remotely intellectual thought in months.

Furthermore, I have come to the conclusion that everyone I work with thinks that I’m fluffy and giggly.  This was endearing and cute when I was younger.  As I am firmly in my mid-thirties, I think I should be evolving a bit. 

*raises eyebrow*

At this point in time, I suppose all I can do is ride this recent wave/trend of preoccupation and throw myself into more chick lit.  Not even Kurt Vonnegut can save me now.