Coffee is bae. We are currently fighting.

Like in any relationship, there are hiccups. Rough patches. Coffee and I are not speaking.

We’ve had issues before.

But today! Today, coffee was a real biatch.

On my way to work, walking and texting, I spilled all of my latte on my bright pink dress. I had to finish my commute looking like someone took a dump on my crotch.

At the office, I rushed to the washroom to unsoil myself. Cue half a morning looking like I had peed myself. At least that made anatomically more sense. Once my dress dried, I realized I now had water stains and washed out coffee stains. So I went on a hunt for Tide-to-go. Found some after basically showing the entire office my disgraceful state and set myself to work to clean myself up.

Its been two hours. The stains are still there. I sure hope coffee has not wrecked my dress. My beautiful, sexy, bright, professional pink dress.

Coffee hasn’t apologized yet. Coffee seems to feel I am ungrateful for all the times coffee has saved my unproductive, exhausted self from getting fired for napping at my desk. Pffffft. Coffee. REAL friends don’t keep tabs on each other, sheesh.





Punctuality really isn’t my thing. Mornings neither.

Back when I worked at a Big 4 accounting firm, my tardiness was legendary. I periodically rolled into the office at 9:30, 10:00, 10:30… But as I worked 60 hour weeks, frequently staying until the wee hours of the morning, nobody really complained. I had my staff and all the partners trained to never bother scheduling any client meetings with me before 9:30 at the earliest, because I just wouldn’t show up, sleeping right through it. It wasn’t that I didn’t value punctuality, teamwork or the importance of good customer service, it was just an accepted fact that I couldn’t wake up that early.

When I quit that job to head into industry 2 years ago, all my coworkers roasted me on the necessary changes I’d have to make to my lifestyle, as that kind of tardiness just isn’t acceptable in most companies. At my first job in industry, I cleared it with my boss (VP Finance): as long as I showed up by 9:30, he wouldn’t consider me late. In appreciation of this reasonable concession, I made a point of always showing before 9… sometimes even as early as 8am! I boasted of my earlybird timing when interviewing for my current job, last September. My prospective boss was all admiration, but told me that most of the team started around 8:30, so really no need to come in earlier.

Inevitably, since starting my current job 10 months ago, I’ve succeeded in showing before 9am maybe 4 times. I can’t explain it. Its not a question of commute, as it is almost next door to my former job, approximately 10 minutes closer to chez moi. My body just cannot get out of bed before 7:45… which makes it pretty damn hard to get to work before 9am when my commute is 40-50 mins long! Two months ago I showed up 45 minutes late to an 8:30am meeting with my two bosses and a supplier – the only explanation I could offer was an apologetic shrug, and a “I can’t do mornings”. Big-boss could see how very contrite I was, but he was confused: he is a morning-type, usually at the office typing away at his laptop by 7:30am.


Next week, on Monday-Tuesday, we (Big-boss and myself) will be hosting an important visitor from our parent company, flying in specifically to see us in Montreal from head office in Paris. To be fully ready for that meeting (day kicks off at 8:30am! YUCK!) I need to follow up on some issues with one of our subsidiaries in Germany. Unfortunately for me, the controller in Germany is on vacation this week, so the only time I can get the required information from him prior to the appearance of my visitor is by having a 7:30am (SEVEN THIRTY!!!!!!!!!!!) conference call with the German controller on Monday morning.

Big-boss has kindly offered to call me on my cell at 6:30am to make sure I am awake and headed to the office. This is both embarrassing and the only practical solution to this disaster in my life.




A pointless story about coping mechanisms, boys in drag and Eminem

So yeah. Lately, I’ve been having a bit of a rough time adulting. One of the main symptoms of this is a pervasive anxiety about my appearance (discussed here). Just because I know that my brain is using this insecurity to funnel a lot of my more generalized anxiety does not make it any less overwhelming. I’m long past the point where compliments help counteract the negative voices in my head. I went out 2 weeks ago in a fabulous dress with tasteful side-boob, and despite unanimous enthusiastic positive feedback from girls and guys, I remain convinced that I looked like a muscular boy in drag.

Then I dyed my hair blonde. It’s been quite the adjustment. I’m not sure how I feel about it. Most people love it. But of course, since I am insecure about the change, all I remember are Beaut’s horror and Coach’s gentle mockery. That’s all I needed to convince myself that I repulsive. Ugly. A muscular boy in drag with a bad taste in hairstyles.

This morning I showed up to work 45 minutes late. Traffic? Nope. Doctor’s appointment? Nope. Overslept? Nope. I had a wardrobe meltdown. 6 different outfits, 2 different bras, 3 different panties, 13 minutes sobbing in front of the mirror, 5 minutes of internal debate as to whether looking ugly was a good reason for not going to work. Afterall, when I have the flu, I should avoid inflicting the icky on my coworkers, right? Same thing. I should avoid inflicting the ugly. Charity, really. A prime example of teamwork.

Anyhow, I made it to work. I suppose I should congratulate myself that my rational brain is still approximately functional. But I was in a FOUL mood, that even 67 cups of coffee did nothing to fix. And before anyone points out that 67 cups of coffee MIGHT contribute to my anxiety, don’t. COFFEE IS MY BAE.

After 3 hours at work, one thing was clear: I hate people. I am aware that I work at one of the best companies in the world, and that really, the teamwork, efficiency and goodwill of my coworkers is unparalleled. But still. WHY MUST EVERYTHING BE SO DIFFICULT AND ANNOYING? WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY?

I resorted to my tried and true coping mechanism for desperate times. Listening to Eminem’s song “So Much Better”.

This song never fails to cheer me up. Possibly because the refrain is perfect:

My life will be so much better if you just dropped dead
I was laying in bed last night thinking
And this thought just popped in my head
and I thought
Wouldn’t shit just be a lot easier if you dropped dead
I would feel soooooooooooo much better

Eminem. The Shakespeare of our times.

I LOVE this song. I think it is so funny, and perfect. So much happy hatred, the contrast of the vindictive silly possibly violent dislike with the up-beat melody. And let’s be honest: we’ve all thought this about someone at least ONCE in our lives, right? RIGHT?!?! It makes sense that my doppelganger would put a smile back on my face. I suppose if I’m destined to look like a boy in drag, I could do worse than Eminem – maybe I’ll simultaneously develop a similar skill to his wizardry as a wordsmith. #theblogcomesfirst

Bet y’all didn’t realize accountants could be so thug, right? #ratchetcalculator








A bad case of the mondays

I got to the office, late today. Around 9:15am. It took everything out of me to drag my ass all that way. The smallest things were big obstacles. Finding two shoes from the same pair. My keys. Keeping both eyes open at the same time.

As I sat down at my desk, something seemed a little off. Shrugging, I got myself a coffee. I sipped on it (really, coffee = heaven), and then the clouds in my brain dispersed, and I saw clearly the problem.

I’d forgotten my work laptop at home.

I live 45 mins from the office.

So yeah, I am working from home today. It has it’s perks:

  • I am wearing pyjama pants
  • No one can see how much chocolate I am eating; nor can they hear me swear – SO MUCH FREEDOM!
  • I am blasting music from my sound system.

Today’s soundtrack includes my 2nd favorite rapper after Eminem: Stromae. He is Belgian, raps in French and has the ability to create amazing dance tracks. Namely:

For my English speaking readers, here are his translated lyrics:

When we say study, it means work,
When we say work, it means money,
When we say money, it means spending
When we say credit, it means debt,
When we say debt, it means bailiff,
We agree to being in deep sh*t
When we say love, it means kids,
When we say forever, it means divorce.
When we say family, we say grief, because misfortune never comes alone.
When we say crisis, we talk about the wold, famine and then third world.
When we say tiredness, we  talk about waking up still deaf from sleepless night
So we just go out to forget all our problems.
So we just dance… (X9)
So you say that it’s over because the only thing worse would be death.
When you finally think you’ll make it, there’s more and more!
Just perfect for a bad case of the Mondays.

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🍦💀 #mondaypunday

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