A psychic once told my mom that I would be married three times. She told my mom this while I was married the first (and only) time. When she called to tell me about it, I already knew that I wasn’t going to stay married to that person, but I was also sure that I wasn’t going to get married ever again, let alone two more times. It’s not just that I didn’t like being married; being married three times means that you have to get divorced at least twice (and the psychic did say it was divorce, because apparently being a widow is too much to ask), and that means making the same mistake more than once when you should have learned your lesson the first time.

I enjoy making the same mistake twice about as much as I enjoy repeating myself, and by that I mean that both of those can go eat a dick.

This is why it’s so frustrating to work with a person who not only continues fucking up, but they’re fucking up because they refuse to listen no matter how many times they’re told. If I were Grandma Airplane, I’d get sick of looking like a crazy idiot all the time. Or maybe I’d be completely unaware of it, as the dull roar of anti-immigration rhetoric and crappy Christian rock occupying my brain would make it hard for me to hear what anyone was saying.

I know I’ve said it before (and remember how much I hate repeating myself), but this woman is making me nuts. It’s really difficult for me to understand how a person can work for a company with such an excellent reputation when they’ve proven repeatedly for more than a year that they are incapable of performing the most basic parts of the job. She really is the worst part of my day. She is worse than waking up at 5am, worse than Shit Sandwich, worse than my boss telling me that while she can’t recommend me to people highly enough, she wishes that I would just suck it up and “play the game.”

What the fuck is “the game?” I’m not in sales. I’m not in marketing. I’m not in any department where bullshit socializing is at all beneficial, nor am I in a department where people get promoted to the point where playing “the game” is something that occurs. Well. I assume. Fuck if I know what “the game” is, although I fucking hope it doesn’t involve making small talk with my director like I give a shit about what she did that weekend. I’m friends with a few people and on friendly terms with many others at work so it’s not like I’m completely antisocial, but chatting it up with the woman who didn’t even know my name for the first three years I worked for her is not going to be comfortable for me.

I don’t remember which book it’s in, but somewhere in my home library (two bedroom apartment with no kids, of course I have a home library, bitches!) is a book that includes some advice given to the author by her father. Among the advice is the very sad and true statement that most people are dumbasses, and that frequently, the author would be surrounded by them. Her father said that although this would never be a happy situation, the situation would be more bearable with the simple knowledge that it is most people’s dumbassery (rather than their calculated maliciousness) that makes them so awful. And he’s right. Most people are dumbasses, and I know that they’re rarely smart enough to consciously make my life harder. But it still sucks, and like those things I mentioned earlier, it can go eat a dick.