Friday, September 11, 2009

Guest Post- Jill f*cks up.


Hey, bitches. Allow me to introduce you to my second guest poster, Jill, and her biting sense of humor. Enjoy...

There have been times in the jobs I've had when I've fucked up. It doesn't matter how it happened, really. There's the Inverted Number Sequence Catastrophe of aught three, the Wrong Address Paper Mix-Up of ninety-nine... I'm sure you've all had your own. Oh, the stories I could tell! But there's definitely a special chapter in that particular book of fables for the collective fallout of these mistakes. 

This may shock you, but as a woman, it is a big deal when I mess up at work. When a man makes a small computing error he is “only human”, for a woman mistakes are a symptom of feminine silliness. It's frankly a wonder we can get through a full day without blowing something up, right ladies? For men it's a one-time thing, for women just another in a string of airhead moves.

I can't count the number of times a male supervisor has tried to make me feel stupid over something that's as natural to humans as breathing: fucking up. I have news for you, superiority-complexed male supervisors: one wrong digit does not an idiot make. I've sat there patiently, having the simplest tasks explained to me over and over again. I've put up with your condescending tone. I've refrained from screaming “I AM WAY SMARTER THAN YOU, ASSHOLE!” But no more. 

Right now, I am outing you publicly. All you smarmy middle managers with your dull-witted cries of “you must be pregnant!” when I feel sick. All you limp-wristed, fleece-vest-wearing jokers who make lame comments about PMS when I am legitimately pissed at your incompetence. 

I am smarter than you. That's right, I said it. 

No longer will I leave the house feeling crisp and in control, only to return eight hours later feeling  bedraggled. I have your number, middle manager man. 

I  demand you take me seriously from now on. I will not laugh at your PMS jokes. I will look at you like you have six heads when you suggest I am pregnant. 

Most of all, when you explain something simple to me for the three-hundredth time, because you just can't get over that one time I got it wrong, I will say: “Thank you, but I figured that out already. If you'll excuse me, I have work to do.”

I can't stop making mistakes. I have faith that I will find new and challenging ways to fuck up in the future. But you know what? So will men! 

YUPB readers, don't be trapped by the middle manager man. He's an idiot. You just keep on walkin' in your fab, fab shoes.  

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

B.I.L.F.- Dr. Mehmet Oz


Photo Originally uploaded by David Berkowitz

I have what you might call a bad case of White Coat Syndrome. That means that any time I am near a medical professional, I want to run screaming from the building. I mean, let's be honest here, where else do you go but a doctor's office to put on a paper dress backwards and then have a near-stranger ask banal questions about your life while they speak directly into your crotch? Yeah, almost nowhere. Exactly.

Don't get me wrong; I respect the work that doctors do. I can't imagine what it must be like to have to pinpoint what is ailing a person while they anxiously relate a laundry list of obscure symptoms. Even more difficult, I think, must be to retain empathy and, especially, a sense of humour.

Meet Dr. Mehmet Oz, a Harvard educated cardiologist, author, and humanitarian  who happens to manage to do both of those things while acting as Oprah Winfrey's personal physician, which, btw, is the modern day equivalent of the guy from the Tudor court who had the prestigious job of collecting the king's poo everyday. I mean that in a good way.


He is not your typical pill-pushing MD. He strongly supports energy-based therapies, such as acupuncture, yoga and meditation; he studies "blue zones", geographical areas where residents have higher life expectancies than developed countries and he serves on the Board of Trustees for One Voice Movement to promote healthier dialogue between moderate Israelis and Palestinians.

 Intelligent, open-minded and selfless?

*Sigh* Love him.

Have you ever seen him on Oprah? He approaches even the most disgusting things with such a happy-go-lucky attitude that he could almost be the biology professor you had a crush on back in Uni. And while he is somewhat simian, I can't help but be turned on by the way he can take a dismal medical prognosis and make it seem like someone has just handed you your VERY OWN UNICORN. 

I want to put him in my pocket and carry him around for those days when I need to be talked out of laying on the floor and eating cheese. Don't you?

Word of the Week- Bovarism

Bovarism (BO-vuh-riz-em) .n.     An exaggerated or glamourised estimate of oneself. Conceit.   From  the French Bovaryisme (after Emma Bovary, the title character in Gustave Flaubert's famous novel 'Madame Bovary'.)
For example:    
" When she speaks, she literally looks down her nose at you whether you are taller than her or not. Everything about her body language and mannerisms belies unreasonalbly high self-esteem. This woman's bovarism practically oozes from her pores."