Do you REALLY say what you mean?

I do.  And I realized that this question holds my happiness and/or  probability in being crestfallen within it’s very grip since I say what I mean on the reg.

You see, I may be a legend in my own mind but I don’t know many other people that speak without fear. People have many reasons for guarded speech.

Call it diplomacy, call it compromise. I do know how to create and succumb to both gracefully. Sometimes, however, that shit is just not the call I’m going to make.

I applaud and embrace tact as well btw.  Thanks!

When I say I have 20 dollars to my name, I have 20 dollars left to my name. No savings squirreled away that I “don’t count”  or a stash of qualified funds that I “don’t touch”.

Nope. If I say I have 20 dollars to my name, I mean it. I don’t want to hear you commiserate if it’s not true. Thanks.

Sure “poor” is a perception, but then again it’s not. Not really.

P’raps I should consider a shift in my attitude towards money so that I don’t find myself in 20-dollars-between-me-and-homelessness type of vexing situations, but then I remember folks who are really fringe dwelling…I laugh at and then chide myself for the high melodrama in my mind. Truly poor people are not prone to melodrama.

Do I purposefully make things harder for myself?   Just because when I say I don’t take shit, I mean I don’t take shit?

Not self- righteous so fuck you very much for thinking that. At some point I realized that it’s unhealthy,  for my viscera, to allow someone to literally or figuratively put their boot on my neck and find a cushy home there.

Venting over happy hour and endless shop-talk can get me only so far. Unsaid words can creep up and cause cancer!  Or just a really bad rash even!

When someone insists on fucking with me despite all of the non-verbal indications, “supervisor” or not, I’m the one who’s gonna say “Hey, quit fucking with me over here. I’m trying to work, Douche!”

I use different words. Polysyllabic even. Sometimes I channel Shakespeare. A non-prurient, low-toned verbal beat-down can really magnify unjustified ire.

Corporate America isn’t quite the place for my kind of…hmmm…chutzpah?  Mostly seen not as moxie but as foolish by those who say they are poor when they are not, or those that believe you have to eat shit to get somewhere – just because they did?  Why can’t a nose-to-the-grindstone ethic be enough? Probably because I’ve altered my grindstone to stay up in the air with my nose: My Back. Is. So. Straight…

Corporate America is indeed a giant fraternity/sorority.  Fuck being hazed so I’m the wildcard? (Joker, Joker! Medieval Torture for 50.00 please…)

I’m quite predictable in my unyielding desire to never, ever eat nobody’s shit pie, goulash or run of the mill steaming pile.  I’ll drink some vinegar, but that’s it bitches! I’ve got a wicked sensitive gag reflex!

For things going down anyway…