A Letter to the Crazy Lady(ies)

7/6/2009

Dear Crazy Lady(ies),

Please don’t murder-suicide me. I know in the past I’ve taken your craziness lightly. I thought if anything, you would hurt yourself, but you wouldn’t do anything to me. When people told me to look out for your crazy behavior, I dismissed it like I was invincible. But believe, I get the point. You can, and will kill a brother if you feel like it. I don’t want to end up like Steve McNair. I don’t want to end up like Phil Hartman (yes, I took back like 10 years.) To put it simply, I just don’t want to die.

So, let’s do this. And this is hard for me to do. Let me apologize. I’d like to apologize for not answering the phone when you call. I’d like to apologize for not liking you like that. I’d like to apologize for NOT telling you that I love you when I don’t. I’d like to apologize for calling you a stalker to your face. I’d like to apologize for just being mean. I didn’t mean it. In retrospect, I should have done a better job of keeping you on your rocker. I should have realized that it’s my responsibility to make you un-crazy. It’s not your fault. You can’t help it that I put homicidal thoughts in your head by ignoring you. It’s all me.. My bad, crazy ladies…

In conclusion, crazy lady(ies), I don’t want to die. Please do not murder-suicide me. That won’t accomplish anything. We are not going to meet in the next lifetime. And if we do, I’m going to be pissed that you murder-suicided me. Call me stubborn, but that will have a negative effect on our fake relationship. If you just must do something drastic, can we switch this thing around and do a suicide-murder? You go first, and I’ll meet you there after a long long life with my wife and kids.

Sincerely,

Rashan Jamal

P.S. – I really don’t want to die. Put those murder-suicide thoughts out of your head please.

Thursday Thirteen: 13 (okay, just 12) Misspelings* On The Same Document

I promise this is true... These are from a document that someone was passing out to the new hire training class I'm helping train. Needless to say I snatched the papers up as quickly as I could. I sent Diva an email last week with the subject line "I work with idiots..." Never more true than today... I was studying the document intently trying to find a thirteenth, but I guess I'll just have to roll with twelve today....

1. appropiate (appropriate)
2. disclousure (meant disclosure, but typed it wrong twice)
3.inmediatelly (immediately)
4. privasy (privacy)
5. awared (meant to be aware)
6. producktivity (for real, where did the K come from?)
7. sell (meant "sale")
8. an (meant" and")
9. and (meant "an")
10. carreer (I can almost give this one a pass based on the rest of the misspellings.)
11. transitionalize (don't ask what they were trying to say.)
12. assistants (assistance)
13.. I couldn't find another one. Darn it!!!

Yep, I work with idiots. Let me find out who came up with document and I'm going upside their head with a Funk and Wagnall's

*yes, I spelled it wrong on purpose. It's irony. Get it? LOL*

Conversations With Aristide

So, I’m at work early today doing some training. Got an hour lunch and it’s way too early for me to eat. I decided to sit in the cafeteria and watch some CNN. One table over, Jean-Bertrand Aristide (you know, cuz he’s Haitian) is sitting there talking to everybody and anybody that is in the area. I didn’t have my ipod, but I had my phone. I call Jameil, but she didn’t answer. As a result, the following conversation ensued.

Aristide: Hey, where do you live?
Me: Huh?
Aristide: I see you driving on 285, so you must live out in Stone Mountain.
Me: Tucker (not really, but close enough)
Aristide: These f*ckers are getting on my nerves.
Me: Who?
Aristide: These bastards at (insert company I work for)
Me: Oh
Aristide: They are playing games with my salary.

Five minutes later, he is still talking about something or other about medical leave, and wrong paychecks.

Aristide: Did that ever happen to you?
Me: Did what ever happen?
Aristide: They give you wrong pay.
Me: Nah, I never had a problem.

Aristide: You know, this is first time I hear you talk. I thought you were deaf-mute.
Me: Obviously I can talk if I’m working here.
Aristide: I don’t know… Maybe you use the machine..(imitates typing) What do you call it when deaf people use phone?
Me: The TTD machine?
Aristide: Yes, the DDT machine….

Aristide: I think they soon change dress code. The women are dressing too provocatively.
Me: *laughs*
Aristide: I see this girls entire p****. (points at woman who is too close to be having this conversation)
Me: *blinks*
Aristide: I think she have, what do you call it.. toe of the camel.
Me: *cracks up* Aiight, man. I’m about to go. I’ll see ya around.
Aristide: They leave nothing to imagination.
Me: *walking away* Aiight, I’m out.
Aristide: I can see the crack of…

Man, I wish people would not talk to me.