Archive of ‘Just Dionne!’ category

How NOT to Respond to a Resignation

angry-fat-sumo

I resigned my week-old job today with this email:

Please accept this letter as a notice of my resignation effective immediately. I don’t feel I am the right fit for the company and each day, I find myself wracked with anxiety and uncertainty as I go about my duties. I don’t think I will be happy at [company name redacted] and don’t want to waste your time more than I already have, which is why I believe the best course of action would be for me not to return anymore.

I thank you for your time.

This is how my former boss—a man about five-eleven, 250 lbs, calls himself a Christian, prides himself on doing “God’s Work”—responded:

this is not acceptable. you decide to walk out with no notice. did we hurt you in some way? were you disrespected to treat us this way? you know [name redacted] is on vacation next week and you dont have enough respect to give us a weeks notice.

In my opinion you are a piece of shit. If any of us ever see you again we will be sure to tell you in person. Karma will also repay you for this.

Angry Fat ManIf any of us ever see you again sounds like a threat to me. I should be looking over my shoulder for this big angry dude. Say my guy and I were walking around in Balboa Island and we walked into this dude… would he scream in my face and slap me with his meaty, sausage-fingered hand? Would he throw acid in my face and laugh maniacally? Seriously, I want to know. SHOULD I BE SCARED OF THIS MAN?

And oh, yeah… I totally believe in Karma, dude. I’m pretty sure it’s this invisible thing that will follow me around like a puddle of water or a shadow or an errant pull-cord for the venetian blinds that will choke me in my sleep just like in Final Destination. I only fear five things, dude: 1) zombies 2) snakes 3) carbohydrates 4) drowning 5) zombified sea-snake creatures that poop cupcakes and pull chubby Asian girls under water and drown them.

(more…)

WTF was That?!?

I just had a trippy dream. I have never had one like it before. My dreams are usually something I can understand, like fantasy dreams. Last night, I had a dream Chris Pine and I were sitting at this cafe in Venice Beach sharing an ice cream cone. It was strawberry cheesecake. When I woke up, I had a mad craving for strawberry cheesecake ice cream and actually contemplated driving to VONS at 3 AM in the morning. Or the one before I had the night before that: Marc and I were riding around in hot pink beach cruisers on the boardwalk in Balboa Island and everything was merry and gay when all of a sudden there were zombies and we had to hide and wait it out in a taco shop. See? Simple. But this one I just had was a major trip. And I actually felt compelled to write about it as soon as I woke up. I don’t have a dream journal, so here it is.

I was watching this interview with Lawrence Krauss and Richard Dawkins in the living room while lying on the couch (Marc was on floor, lounging on a bunch of pillows and playing with the cat). I had lit up a sandalwood incense, so that sweet, minty thing scent hung in the air. At one point, I turned on my side and promptly fell asleep.

I dreamt I was in the Philippines at my grandfather’s house in Olongapo City, hanging out in front of the convenience store we owned, drinking from a bottle of Coke. For some reason, I began looking for my mother and sisters whom I couldn’t find. This old-timey rotary phone rings and I pick it up: it’s my mother wanting me to pick her up at this house just a few blocks away. She was playing mah-jong with some friends (my mother, as far as I know, has never played a game of mah-jong in her life) and didn’t want to walk home. I hop on my old BMX bike, but somehow as I am riding it, it turns into the crappy car I have now. The roads change too; there are suddenly stop signs and traffic lights (and there ain’t no stop signs and traffic lights in Olongapo; people just drive around however they feel like it). In my mind, the house my mother was talking about is just a few blocks away. Just cross Magsaysay Drive and it’s right past Saint Columban Church. All of a sudden I am driving on Manzanitas Road (which I think is in San Diego somewhere) and panicking slightly because how the eff was I going to get to my mother? I’m driving and driving (it was a really long road) and I’m passing graveyards and beaches and foresty landscapes and I’m pretty sure I’m lost. I turn on this one street so I could double-back around and there’s this snow embankment that pops up in front of me (it doesn’t and has never ever snowed in the Philippines). There is another car there, too. It is an older red Toyota Camry and it’s stuck in the snow. I stop and get out of the car. A middle-aged white guy wearing a gray pull-over sweater and jeans comes out and wants to know if he can get a ride back to the city. This tall blond lady come out after him and she’s wearing a pair of jeans she says the hotel let her borrow and a white peasant blouse. We all go into my car and I start driving again when I realize I’m looking right at the blond lady (she’s sitting in the back seat) and I can’t see where I’m going because the driver’s seat seem to be facing her. I pull over the car again and the middle-aged white guy help me adjust the seats so that they are facing forward again. We get back into the car and on we go.

And then I wake up. It sounds mundane now that I’ve written it all out and read it back to myself, but I swear to God, when I first woke up on that couch, I was scared to death and very close to freaking out. My neck was shrieking in pain, my mouth was dry, and when I swallowed, it felt like there were razor blades in my throat. Marc had fallen asleep on the floor and I shook him awake so I could tell him my dream, but after I finished, he didn’t say anything, so I called out his name a couple of times before realizing he had fallen back asleep while I was telling him about my dream. I got pissed, so I left him in the living room, went to the bathroom to pop an Aleve, then hopped onto bed and fired up my laptop. Twittered about it. And now here I am.

Seriously, wtf was that? Why was I so scared when I first woke up? I mean, my heart was pounding, my shirt was drenched with sweat, and I had this compulsion to hide. And I never dream about people I have never before seen in real life and I had never seen those people before. Ever. I swear to God, I am never taking Benadryl before watching Richard Dawkins ever again. Stress hives be damned.

This Morning, I scared the crap out of the cat as well as myself…

I thought I had an honest-to-FSM ghost story to share with you guys today, but as Marc explained to me quite rationally and patiently, it wasn’t. So there I was, lying in bed, enjoying the warmth of my blankets and the smell of my hot lover man’s shampoo on the pillows, and feeling pretty damn happy despite my serious jonesing for pho (I haven’t had pho in months. There was this awesome Vietnamese restaurant close to our house in San Diego, but then I moved to Newport Beach for lurve and all of a sudden, the closest down-home Vietnamese restaurant is, like, effin’ 15 miles away. What the shit is that?). I was feeling languid and relaxed… chillaxin’, if I may, and even indulgent enough that I was allowing Tom to lick my eyebrows (I don’t let him get away with that shit usually. Do you have any idea what a cat be lickin’ at his leisure?). So Tom and I, we’re cool, we’re chillaxin’ in the bed, and Marc is puttering around in the kitchen making coffee… THEN THE MOTHAFUCKIN’ TEEVEE TURNS ON BY ITSELF!!! LIKE, OMGWTFBBQ!!!11!!![one]!! Damn, you should have seen my ass jump out of bed. I had never been so scared in my life. I ran like I was a suspicious lookin’ dude on Law & Order SVU and this tough ladycop was eyeballin’ me like she wants to curb-stomp my perpetratin’ ass when I was just standing on a street corner enjoying a delicious Gray’s Papaya. Like WTF, LADYCOP! Only the ladycop was a frickin’ long-haired, skinny Japanese chick with a fucked-up eye and wearing a dirty white nightgown and crawling out of my 19-inch Phillips like she wants to get all up in my soul and shit. All of a sudden, I was standing in the kitchen butt-naked except for a white thong that says I HEART MY PRESIDENT on the front and had crawled up my ass, trying to remember if I had watched some mysterious videotape seven days ago and forgotten about it and Marc was looking at me like I had lost my damn mind. Meanwhile, Tom had squirreled up his three-story kitty condo and stuck his head under Rupert and refused to come down for three hours even when I said I was sorry and offered to open up a can of Chicken of the Sea and made a can-opener noise with my mouth. Anyway, this was the convo between me and Marc

BAM: OMGWTFBBQ, the crazy-eyed chick from the Ring is after me!
Marc: [holding an NES Super Mario Brothers mug and staring at me like I was nuts] The neighbors can see yours chichis and if they happen to have Superman vision, your extreme love for our 44th president, Mr. Barack H. Obama.
BAM: THE TEEVEE TURNED ON BY ITSELF AND SADAKO IS TRYING TO GET ME!
Marc: [sighing] Maybe you rolled over on the remote or something?
BAM: NO! IT’S SADAKO and NOW I’M GOING TO DIE AND THE COPS ARE GOING TO FIND ME WITH MY FACE FROZEN IN TERR— yeah, ok, maybe. Huh.
Marc: You want some coffee?
BAM: No.
Marc: How about an Eggo?
BAM: No.

And then I went back to bed and guess what? The remote was nowhere to be found, not on the bed or that little gap between the bed and the nightstand. So I was back to freaking out again, convinced I had somehow brought upon an ancient Japanese curse on my head, when I looked at Marc’s side of the bed and found the remote hiding under the pillows. Boo.

What surprised me about the whole thing was the disappointment I felt when I realized I didn’t experience something supernatural. Like, did I want Sadako to be coming after me for real? Hell no! I’d rather be feeling stupid than murdered by some creepy long-haired freak that had crawled out of a well in Japan and out of the TV for no reason whatsoever!

UPDATE: Speaking of mysterious videotapes, someone left me a VHS copy of KPAX on our front door. Like, why would anyone do that? AND WHY VHS? I don’t even have a tape player! Is someone in my neighborhood convinced that I just have to experience all that Kevin Spacey and Jeff Bridges cheese for myself? Really!?! Seriously, man, it freaked me out.

I’m a Jerk…

To the four or five of you who have been enjoying the adventures of Daisy and Christian, I must apologize in advance *ducks* that I will not be able to give you Chapter Seven this week. *double-ducks*

Please understand that there is a very, very good reason. REALLY, REALLY GOOD. Shuzluva, commence screaming.

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