I guess I’ll just go back to folding sweaters for rich people.
Remember how I am supposed to be Taking Journalism Seriously now? And maybe a part of Taking Journalism Seriously should entail me thinking about what I write on the internet before I do it? Yes, well, hm. Well.
I DID NOT DO THAT TODAY.
I won’t go into the details, but let’s just say I said something anecdotal about someone in jest in a comment on a blog and this comment put that blog in a postion where it could be possibly be sued. And also, maybe I get paid by the people who run this blog to write things for them sometimes.
Hahahaha.
Ha.
Oh, Kiala.
I’ve always been very careful to only malign myself on the internet and not name names and I can only blame the four Advil PMs I took last night along side two or eight glasses of red wine me. And knowing my psychology, I will most likely beat myself up for days, maybe years, about this even though, EVEN THOUGH, they were very nice about it and reassuring and everything and also even though Dane knew immediately what this would do to my anxiety - and please don’t get me wrong, no one should have to tiptoe around my fragile emotional state especially if it might cause them fiscal harm - and began the soothing process before the shame spiral could begin but I am extremely well practiced at freaking out over small things.
Let me give you an example. In the Eighth Grade, Brian Hernandez’s girlfriend Michelle found out that I had a burning secret crush on him and left me a note on my desk informing me that she and her friends were going to beat me up. Instead of sucking it up and facing the situation, I rallied my friends and a few older popular girls around me and word got out that no one was allowed to touch me. Which, oh my God, is exactly what I’m doing right now.
Damn you Psychology. Damn you to HELL.
Fine, then, fine. I did this stupid thing and it’s my fault and it’s not that big of a deal I guess and the rest of the world has moved on already.
Right?
Gah.
Anyway, The POOR, right? Who thinks the Poor are cylons? Discuss.
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19 comments
We are too alike. TOO ALIKE.
Go take a walk.
And we’ll never, ever talk about this ever happening. Unless you want to pick the scab of it over and over and over again. I go between the two pleasures (I’m mean forms of torture) when I’ve made a mistake. In fact, we can discuss that time I was 16 and I hit a parked car. A BMW. In the Nordstrom parking lot. And I left a note! Oh my god, I am the lamest human being ever. EVER. One for driving like shit, and two for leaving a note.
But back to the poor. I hate them.
But did I tell you about when I was 16 and hit a parked car? I did? Well, did I mention that I’m lame and if I could wear a hair shirt and flog myself for the rest of my life I would.
I still hate the poor.
Okay, now I’m going to feel lame for pressing submit.
You are right. I am going to go walk the dog and breathe fresh air and think about melissa hitting a parked car and leaving a note.
You know, the day I got my drivers license I hit another car head on in an intersection. I was driving my mothers company car for which I was not insured.
I’m pretty sure I got my mom fired for this.
Anyway, fuck the Poor.
Two days after I got my license, I hit the cement pole thing at the gas station. And then three weeks later I hit a tree in the Denny’s parking lot right in front of the hot older guy I had a crush on.
I could go on…
Being a proper journalist MEANS having people want to sue you.
I must know more.
And one year before I had my license, I took a turn too fast and ran into a tree in my mom’s ford explorer. WHILE LISTENING TO THE FOO FIGHTERS! (Aww yeah 1995)
ALONE!
On my third day on a job I e-mailed the wrong attachment which were confidential meeting notes where specific names were mentioned to an entire committee. I could have easily been sued. My boss just laughed at me and told me to slow down. I had to phone my members and ask them to delete the e-mail from me to those that I couldn’t “unsend” it. I suppose we’re always hardest on ourselves. Character building. Is that what it was?
Melissa -
You should never be allowed behind the wheel of a car again. I’m driving you around from now on. In your car. To run my errands.
Matt -
YOU ARE RIGHT. I’m going to write a blog about Dave Allen touching babies. He won’t mind. He likes babies.
What?
Robert -
I love the Foo Fighters!
treblemaker -
Oh my God and when it happened did your heart stop beating? That used to happen to me all the time when I had an office job. That’s why I don’t have one now.
When I was a younger dork, I had a job at a now-defunct computer retail store. One day, I was dealing with a pissed off customer and had to page a manager. I got on the intercom and politely asked him to come to the ’sex service counter’ instead of the ‘tech service’ one.
We were really busy after that…
Kiala, let’s just say that it was an “oops I crapped my pants” moment. I had actually attached a much less confidential memo than I thought, but it was still BAD. Veddy veddy BAHD. I’m not there anymore. Gee what a surprise.
One time I got fired because I stole money.
Oops.
Thats the same right?!
Someone else talk now.
I love it when other people drive my car. Seriously, you’re welcome to it. I don’t even drive when I visit Southern California. I just let whoever I’m visiting drive whatever car has been mistakenly trusted to me. I don’t even know my way around San Diego. Oh, and NEVER EVER let me drive stick. No matter how tough I talk, don’t let it happen.
So - if I take you and Dane out to Zacks Shack for dogs will you tell me all the details? Is it missing the point of this post that I went directly to the gossip?
What I meant to say was: So - if I take you and Dane out to Zachs Shack for dogs and tell you youre a good person can I get the details?
One time, I posted on this blog, and I used the same word twice but spelled it differently both times. And it was only a four letter word.
Yikes, talk about embarrassing
“And knowing my psychology, I will most likely beat myself up for days, maybe years, about this even though, EVEN THOUGH, they were very nice about it and reassuring and everything and also even though Dane knew immediately what this would do to my anxiety - and please don’t get me wrong, no one should have to tiptoe around my fragile emotional state especially if it might cause them fiscal harm - and began the soothing process before the shame spiral could begin but I am extremely well practiced at freaking out over small things.”
This was possibly the longest sentence I’ve ever read in my life.
And I am the best driver of all time.
I hate the feeling you’re experiencing right now. Hate. It.
I won’t tell you the very long and maudlin story of how I was fired from a job as a librarian at a Catholic school for showing the children porn, but let’s just say I didn’t do it (!) and that I had to go to therapy for 3 months to help get over the shame and guilt I felt for getting fired for something I didn’t even do.
You would think that collecting unemployment for the summer would have been enough to console me…but no.
I’m hard on myself too.
Oh, and thank you for adding me to your blogroll!
I’m honored that we can be blog buddies now and that I can visit your blog and you can visit mine sometimes and like don’t worry. That whole stalking thing with the police was all a misunderstanding. That girl told me it was okay to come in through her window at 3 am. I swear!
Damn, I missed out on all the blog hugs.
Keep your chin up, kiddo.
in the words of evan seinfeld of biohazard:
“The only lessons that you learn are from things that you regret”
I just left a horrible comment on somebody’s blog and immediately had second thoughts and tried to take it back and couldn’t and it was hooorrriblllee. And I immediately had to leave a comment here for obvious reasons…I used a bad word. I can’t say it, but I did - it’s 4 letters and starts with a c. Now everybody hates me. I forget sometimes that not everybody has a naughty naughty pirate mouth like I do.
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