Fuck It, Fight It, It's All the Same...

I like to cuss. I'm certain that if you've even ever been here only once, this confession should come as no surprise. I wouldn't even call it a confession. More a statement of fact. And if this is your first time here, well then now you fucking know. And you'd have noticed soon enough without the warning. I talk like a truck driver and perhaps even moreso now in the presence of adults in real life and here on the internets (Hey you! The twelve-year-old who thinks I'm a MILF! Go do your homework! What are you, Brad's cousin or something?) because I have to reign in the F-Bombs around the childrens. And there is just something so goddamn cathartic about swearing for me.

That said, there is one swear that I use with the utmost discretion. I reserve it for only the most deserving of recipients. That is the word cunt. It isn't that the word bothers me especially. Honestly? I'm always afraid that when I use it someone will say I'm not a real feminist and so I make especially sure that when I'm calling someone a cunt, it is worth any hassle I will get. I've got to tell you, I haven't received my card in the mail just yet, but I'm a member of the Feminist Club just the same. And I don't even pretend not to be. Like, "Oh, OF COURSE I think women should be equal, but I'm not a FEMINIST! Ew! They're, like, hairy and ugly and stuff!" I'll say it loud and proud. I'm a feminist.

And yet, I cannot rectify the fact that I'm a feminist with the fact that nothing gives me more pleasure than calling someone I don't like a fucking cunt. I suppose I could equate it to calling someone a prick. But that'd be a lie. It just isn't the same.

Still, though? At the risk of ruining my feminist street cred and all? My former coworker is a FUCKING CUNT! And that is ultimately why I quit my job. I hadn't wanted to say anything while I was still working because, though none of my former coworkers read my blog, it would be easy peasy for them to find if they put in a little effort. And, well, let me call a spade a spade, Cunt was looking for every opportunity to throw me under the bus since she had already succeeded in getting my coworker fired and seemed bored with her lack of a victim. Now that I'm gone and I've come to realize that I don't give a rat's ass about burning bridges (why should I worry about burning bridges when employers don't have to worry about the same?) I'll spill it.

In the end, this was a good thing. I had been finding my job not leg-humpworthy for years. And I think my ex-boss is losing her damn mind what with nearly humping Cunt's leg on a thrice daily basis.

What is really cool, though, is that knowing I was leaving eventually, and knowing that I decided when I'd leave, and knowing that they could all fucking kiss my ass because I knew shit they didn't know and they needed me to stay and I could leave whenever I fucking wanted, well, it gave me power. I'm power-trippin' yo. Hence the unabashed use of run-on sentences. I found my voice. I spoke up for myself in a way I hadn't for the eight years I'd been there.

I don't have the intestinal fortitude to go into the details of Cunt's cuntiness, but I thought I'd share an e-mail I sent to my boss with you. Mostly because I read it and smile and thought you might, too. And it sort of sums things up so you'd get the general idea of what happened. Because some of you have so kindly asked.

Without further ado...Here it is...An e-mail to my ex-boss...

Boss,

Here’s the thing. I totally get that you need to back up Cunt at this point. She’ll be staying and I’m not. It behooves you to sing her praises. It would be silly to do anything else from a business standpoint. It even makes sense that, in order to buoy Cunt, I be painted as incompetent. That’s fine, too. She needs the boost, not me because I’ll be gone.

That said, working with The Two Cunts (the sacchariny sweet one when you and Delores are around and the condescending, snotty one when you are not) is disconcerting to say the least, offensive to say the most. I am staying past April 7th for your and Delores' sake, despite Cunt. But while you backing her up makes good business sense for you, me tolerating condescension from her and being treated as though I’m incompetent does not make good personal sense for me.

Last night I almost decided to rescind my offer to stay past my originally planned resignation date of April 7th. I’ve decided against that because I don’t want to do that to you or to Delores. But, once April 7th comes, I am prepared to leave if I find working with Cunt too stressful. I’d likely be willing to come in and train Delores hourly if it comes to that.

I also want to add, I was a little thrown by your response to my e-mail offering to leave notes about the groups that had absolutely no acknowledgement of the project I was taking on. I mean, I don’t need anyone to do an interpretive dance to “Wind Beneath My Wings” or anything. Heck, I don’t even need a thank you. But it would have been nice if it had mentioned, after singing Cunt’s accolades, “That’d be cool, Zube.” These aren’t notes My Predecessor gave me, nor would I have expected her to. It is stuff I figured out on my own over the past eight years.

Anyway, I’d hate for our relationship to spiral downwards in the upcoming weeks. Seriously. That’s what I fear most. But I also don’t want to willingly play the part of sacrificial lamb for the next six weeks.

Zube

Suffice it to say, my ass was not harrassed outwardly and I worked the remaining weeks I'd been asked to stay.

But now, thank the dieties, I'm done. And on that note...