So, I get the letter I had been expecting from the Texas Workforce Commission today in the mail. I was almost relieved, figuring although I wouldn’t get unemployment benefits due to the morally low people I used to work for, at least the decision was made and I could just stop thinking about it. That didn’t happen because the letter was not what I was expecting.

The TWC found in my favor and stated my benefits would begin this week, as per the set up when I called on January 9.

I swear, I probably stood in my driveway for five minutes, reading the letter over and over again to make sure I had not misread it the first time. Newp, there is was, in black and white: Decision: To pay benefits. Reason: Previous employer did not give sufficient evidence termination was due to poor work performance. It was dated yesterday, one day after I had the phone conversation with the TWC rep. I was stunned. I mean, when so many things do NOT add up about your charges against someone a GOVERNMENT agency only has a one-day turnaround, then your story must be really bad.

And, really, there were so many holes in what they said, plus the fact there was no prior paperwork to prove I had been warned, written up or talked to prior to my supposedly horrendous behavior, plus the fact the company that was my actual employer did not fire me nor did I get a termination letter or call from them…. yeah, nice try but nothing. As JS said this evening, “Bullshit smells like bullshit.” Amen.

*bimbles off*

In the midst of my recent fits of nastiness, I have found something to feel good about in the overall scheme of things. (Yeah, I know. I hate to the break the ‘ittle bitty heart of a certain recently-banned troll, but it’s true. I swear.)

Jennifer Hudson, who is said to be truly breathtaking in “Dreamgirls,” has sufficiently stole the limelight, awards and adoration away from Beyonce. And, now she is up for an Oscar. I, for one, say “GO, GIRL! We love ya, BABEEEE!”

Remember the hype for this movie? It was Beyonce this, Beyonce that. If you paid attention to the pre-movie titter, you would have no idea two other, actually talented women starred in this movie. However, true to the Hollywood style, Beyonce – a marginally talented singer, horrifying flat actress and all-out PR-machined dream – was on the front of magazines, in interviews and had top billing.

Funny thing, those movies. And, ironic. The story of a supposedly-fictious girl group, how the talented one is shoved to the side for the prettier one. blahblah…. And, then there was Jennifer Hudson, who simply opened her mouth and proved she is a helluva better singer and actor than her celebrated co-star. For once, talent trumped looks, PR agents and hair extensions.

I wish this woman luck on Oscar night and hope she doesn’t get lost in the Hollywood version of what a female is supposed to be – vapid, 10 pounds underweight, Botoxed, lifted and pretentious.

*bimbles off*

Yeah, it’s 3:15 a.m. and I’m still up. Sue me, it was a bad day.

On the up side, I had lovely lunch with Army of Mom, I have a job interview on Wednesday morning thanks to a couple of good friends of mine and my Mom liked the birthday gift I got her. I mean, the birthday gift was a complete score, if I really think about it.

Back to being up…. here’s the question: What should I go eat, now that I’ve stayed up late enough to be starved:

a. Bacon, egg and cheese taquito from Whataburger
b. Peanut butter/jelly sandwich
c. Bacon, egg and cheese taquito from Whataburger
d. Cereal
e. Bacon, egg and cheese taquito from Whataburger

*pauses*

If you’ll excuse me, I need to go find my coat and wallet.

*bimbles off*

File this under “Stupid, but Legal Things that You Think Only Happen to Other People”:

On Jan. 9, I became one of the masses of unemployed again. I was working through a staffing agency for a company, not actually for the company. There were problems from the beginning, the least of which was the staffing agency rep told me I’d be hired by said company on Jan. 1 (or the first Monday in January), which turned out to be false. There were also issues of what projects were a priority, my two supervisors being gone for two weeks for the holidays, project goals not being communicated to me and on and on. By the time the company guy had the “talk” with me, things had soured on both ends. They said I was being let go because I was not, in their words, “producing the work” they asked me to do. First, graphics work takes time. Amendment: QUALITY graphics work takes time. Secondly, I was doing exactly what they told me to do, however, instead of 10 someones developing this stuff as they needed, they now had one person. And, while I have a list of faults a mile wide, my work is not one of them. I never apologize for it. They wanted me to say I wasn’t doing the work. I would not.

So, I am unemployed. That is not the gist of this post.

This is: The afternoon this happened, I called the Texas Workforce Commission and started the slow, red-tape of unemployment benefits ball rolling. Today, I got a letter stating something was wrong, please call them, blah, blah. (For anyone having dealt with the TWC, there is ALWAYS a problem, usually involving several days to unwind, the result being there was nothing wrong in the first place.)

I called and was informed the staffing agency reported the reason for my “firing” as “visiting Internet sites with profane language and the use of profane language on the Internet.” My first response, which I wisely held down, was “What the FUCK are you talking about?” I rephrased that to a simple “What??” She said, “They reported visits to a site called labkat.blogspot.com.”

For a moment, I honestly could not say anything. Had I visited my blog during business hours? Yes. A lot? No, not really. Maybe a handful of times during four weeks. Had my job suffered because of it? No.

My site does, however, have what we like to politely refer to as “adult language.” So does CNN.com. Get over it.

So, I spent the next half hour explaining MY side of what happened, which of course, isn’t going to mean diddly. I can talk until I’m blue in the face and all they have to do is point to an IT report that I visited my blog. Convenient, eh? After they let me go for supposedly one set of reasons, they cover their asses with unemployment by pulling up an IT report and then pulling the “Internet usage” card. I could have almost swallowed this if it was the reason they gave me to my face, even though their HR manual does not have one jot of ink devoted to Internet usage. I could have at least given them that. But, to pull this out of their asses to save on unemployment claims…. that is just fucking low. Because they can always say that’s what they told me and have a hard report and I have nothing but my word.

So, my fellow bloggers: it can happen to you. Especially in Texas, which is an “at will” state, meaning you can be fired for your boss not liking the shade of purple you wore that day and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it. Blogging can be readily used against you as a reason to fire you, or in my case, to refuse unemployment benefits.

And, whatever you do, don’t use the word “fuck.” Apparently, this offends people’s fee-fees.

*bimbles off*

My previous post brought this to mind:

Dear Rosie, Donald, Angelina, Madonna, Oprah, Paris, Anna Nicole and any other celebutard who might be running their surgically-enhanced mouth at the moment:

Shut.The.Fuck.Up. Really. Truly.

Because those of us who live in the real world don’t give a flying rat’s ass about who you don’t like at the moment, your money or what act of self-righteous charity you’ve just bestowed upon some homeless child in the third-world country that serves as your brood farm. And, by real world, I mean where stamping your feetsies and screaming “fatty” at someone you don’t like makes you look like a social retard. Not to mention a complete weenie.

I view you like the performing monkey on the street corner. I find it fun to watch him perform, but his screeching is just fucking annoying. So, go back to making movies, hosting your talk shows and spending the interest on your billions and stop acting as if your life was some opera we all stood in line for and paid money to see.

Yours,
Lab Kat

P.S. And, put on some goddamned underwear while you’re at it.

*bimbles off*

1. I really believe the president of the company I work for is a former smoker. He chews gum all day. Not in a normal way, but in that nervous, hard way people chew Nicorette gum.

2. My direct supervisor does yoga at 5:30 in the morning. I cannot even begin to process this piece of information.

3. There are very, VERY, few days in Texas when you can define the weather as “nice.” When you can walk two blocks to the Quiznos on the corner for lunch and it be cool enough for a light jacket, but warm enough that your feet don’t freeze. I’m pleased to say, today was one of those rare days.

4. To the guy sitting at the table next to me at the aforementioned Quiznos, nattering away in a voice satellites could pick up about the details of an extraordinarily wicked bachelor party in Vegas he attended with his frat brothers to his table mate – please, for the love of all that’s holy, shut your fucking piehole in public. Really. It was bad enough me and everyone within earshot got to relive the “Shagadelic” room experience with you, but when your buddy mentioned something about the intended groom’s financee knowing about said party (I didn’t catch all of it because he wasn’t speaking in sonic booms), and you replied “Jesus, no, man, he didn’t tell her. Why would he tell her?”, I had to physically restrain myself from driving my fork through your left eye. Yes, ladies, he’s available.

5. My edits to an article written by one of our staff were used by said staff member as a teaching tool to her 10-year-old to prove having someone point out your mistakes is not a bad thing, it’s necessary to make sure your writing is clear. (She is a parent who actually checks her child’s homework.) I felt pretty damned good until she said she told him if he didn’t stop slouching in his homework, she would start bringing it to me. Great. I’m surpassed only by the three-headed boogeyman in the closet and the school bully for sheer terror in that kid’s head.

6. I want to know who comes into my house in the middle of the night and drops the temperature at least 10 degrees even though the thermostat has not been touched?

7. My cat Pixel licks my new flat-screen monitor at home. Anyone know the number of that chick who supposedly talks to pets?

*bimbles off*

I find a delicious sort of irony in the fact Army of Mom e-mailed a link to the recent article “What’s Wrong with Cinderella” to me and several other women to comment on the same day Rep. Nancy Pelosi, D-Calif., became the first woman in U.S. history to hold the position of Speaker of the House of Representative. Respendent in purple (only a few shades from that horrid pinky girlie color) and pearls, her family near, thanking the people who supported her from “the kitchen” to Congress. Hardly a woman out-of-touch with her feminine side. On the other hand, I doubt anyone doubts this is one tough chick. If she was ever called “Princess,” it certainly didn’t hinder her from breaking that marble ceiling.

[On a side note, all this feminist bliss was broken briefly for me with this headline: "Nancy Pelosi Two Heartbeats Away from The Presidency." The story is complete with the "just like the late President Gerald Ford" reference. I mean, what is the fucking point of this breathless, over-dramatized drivel? We get it. We understand a woman, for the first time in our history, is second in line for command should anything happen to the president and/or the vice president. And, trust me, I'd be the first to wet myself with excitement should Shrub leave office early, but let's TRY to keep a bit of perspective, shall we?]

Anyway, back to the e-mail. I refrained from commenting in reply-all and on AoM’s blog, mainly because I usually don’t tend to step into conversations between mothers. They have a certain understanding of world I don’t. I have my opinions on things regarding children and little girls, but I never will understand the knowing sympathy between two women who have actually had to get Little Darling into that stinking Cinderella costume they wanted so badly yesterday in the Halloween aisle of Target and are now refusing to wear.

I had seen the article prior to today, discussed in the various blogs I try to read on a daily basis. The gist of the article, in case you’re too busy to read it all, is a decidedly-feminist mom’s frustration with our society’s tendency to push little girls into the role of “princess.” AoM’s take, as well as the comments from her friends, are on her blog and worth a read. And, because you know it’s coming, here’s mine:

In case there’s any doubt, I’m decidely pro-feminist. I believe any little girl in this country should have any opportunity afforded to any little boy in this country. Girl power, rage on, sisterhood. The works. And, I hate society’s insistence on making little girls either “princesses” or, worse in my opinion, little tramps, i.e., low rise pants and sparkly shirts with “Hot Thing” blazing across it. But, I believe there is one thing that trumps Madison Avenue, Bratz and Britney Spears-wannabes for a girl’s opinion of herself – the one of those who raise her. It can be her Mom, Dad, Grandmother, Dad and Dad’s REALLY good friend or dear Aunt so-and-so who took over when Mom was carted off for sniffing glue and starting fires. The person doesn’t matter so much as the words that are showered on that little girl from the time she’s born until she’s old enough to throw that first really good hissy fit and slam her bedroom door. If a parent or guardian is truly serious about actually raising a child and not turning them over to the schools, religion or the latest pop tartlet for guidance, their actions will hold sway long after Mariah Carey can’t wear those micro-mini skirts anymore.

Case in point: When I was about 10 or so, I had a small epiphany. Thumbing through a photo album, I finally noticed a glaring difference in pictures of myself and my sisters, particularly my youngest sister. Whereas she (said youngest sister) was so swathed in ruffles and curls for pictures she looked like some lemon chiffon confection, I was, from about 3 or so on, dressed in pretty but far more sensible plaids (yeah, the late 60s and early 70s were a fashion wasteland) and turtlenecks, my long hair straight, shiny and pulled away from my face with a nice barrette or two. I didn’t sprout the mercifully brief “Fountain of Hair on Top of the Little Girl’s Head” ‘do or yards of ruffles or even lace on my socks.

I took the album to my Mom and asked her why I wasn’t dressed like my sisters. To my Mom’s credit, she didn’t bullshit me. For all her faults, bullshitting her kids wasn’t high on the list. She held some pretty archiac religious ideas as far as I was concerned, but she never just bald-faced lied to me in the face of questions like this. The conversation went along these lines (forgiveness ahead of time for paraphrasing):

Me: Mom, why do C______ and C_______ have on pretty girl dresses and I have on a stupid jumper?

(Editor’s note: I do, distinctly, remember saying “stupid jumper.”)

Mom: The jumper is a girl dress. Look, it has pretty green buttons on it.
Me: Yeah, but I don’t look like C________ and C_______.
Mom: No, you don’t.
Me: Why?
Mom: Well, I tried dressing you that way. I mean, I dressed you like that as a baby. But, when you got older, it just didn’t look right on you. You had the type of personality that made it kind of silly if I put you in a dress like that. *points at youngest sister’s picture, the aforementioned lemon chiffon confection example*
Me: I’m silly?
Mom: No, you’re not silly. You simply aren’t a ruffles-type girl.

I was then introduced to the term “tailored” as it pertained to dressing. “Tailored” versus “fussy.” My youngest sister was in the decidedly fussy category. Fussy as in, to this day, she dresses up to go get the mail. And, to this day, I will skitch up my nose at anything too “overdone” in clothing. And, neither of our opinions were formed by the dentist calling us “princess” or the cartoons we watched or Barbie’s pink Penthouse (WITH the Corvette, thank you very much). It was formed by our Mom taking the actual time to notice the personality differences in her daughters.

My thought is if the author of this article is truly involved in her daughter’s life, all the Cinderella costumes and ‘princess’ references in the world aren’t going to make her daughter any less of a productive member of society. Or harm her opinion of herself. She’ll remember her proud, supportive Mom, not some fictionized version of herself cooked up by society.

Next up: WE STORM THE BASTILLE! Or, just the White House. Who’s with me, goddamnit?

*bimbles off*