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Monica Bielanko
A chronicle since 2005 of my marriage & move to Brooklyn in my twenties; becoming a mother in my thirties; moving to Pennsylvania and learning to amicably coparent after divorce in my forties while living 3 doors down from my ex-husband in a small country town.
That's What She Said
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Monday
Dec312007

O-C-D On The J-O-B

I got called into Human Resources yesterday. Fuck, I thought. What now? Another chat about whether my choice in clothing or the pink in my hair is workplace appropriate? A twentieth admonition to watch my language some of my co-workers are complaining? Again. Are they fucking kidding me? News producers are supposed to curse. It's in the Goddamned job description for Chrissakes!

Turns out, they want me to take more lunches. And delegate more of my responsibilities to others. So, yeah... I guess I'm a bit obsessive compulsive when it comes to writing and producing a newscast. But that's nearly a job requirement as well. Any producer who ain't a bit obsessive compulsive ain't really a good producer. Note: can one be a bit obsessive compulsive? Isn't that a whole-hog kind of deal, kind of like you can't be a bit pregnant?

Seems odd to hear I'm doing my job too well. Obsessive compulsive qualities are against my basic lazy human nature. I drive to work cursing, bitter to be leaving the warm coccoon that is my home, but the minute I log onto my computer, begin catching up on the days events and start stacking my newscast it's like I'm stoned, trying to pop a zit. Just can't stop.

S'funny, my initial passion for the job won't go away. Anymore it's passion against my will. I don't really want to give a shit. I'd love to come in, fuck around, phone it in, collect my check and head for the hills. But I can't. So they told me to take lunch more (I never take lunch) I'm always afraid something glorious will happen while I'm gone, like, maybe a fucking tiger leaps 12 feet over its cage and attacks a zoo visitor before being shot dead by police. Tiger-1, San Francisco Zoo-0. I hate zoos. Also, I have three TV's at my desk, ostensibly to monitor what the competition is doing but my lunchtime hits right around 6:30pm and for those in the Mountain Time Zone know, that's when Entertainment Tonight comes on. And well, you know, a Subway sandwich doesn't really stack up to my daily dose of hot-Britney-turned-hillbilly-on-wheels, allowed to roam the streets of Beverly Hills, wreaking havoc and leaving injured pedestrians in her wake.

So yeah. I guess you can rest assured you're an obsessive-compulsive fuckwit when you're on salary and they still want you to take more lunches and do less of your job.

Happy New Year everyone. Get drunk, eat goodies and don't make any stupid resolution to lose weight. Quit smoking, maybe. But fuck that losing weight shit.