Selfishness Soapbox

I just got back from Widget Co.'s quarterly Red Cross Blood Drive. Widget Co. makes it very easy to sign up for a time slot, and it generally takes an hour from start to finish. Or longer if you eat a lot of cookies.

I was talking with the vampire who was bleeding me, and she told me that, according to American Red Cross statistics, less than 5% of eligible donors actually donate blood. Ever.

There are certainly some legitimate reasons for not donating. Many people are ineligible for various reasons. Obviously, that's legit. Others have a pathological fear of needles. I'm not talking about "not liking" needles; no one likes them! I'm talking about an actual psychological condition that makes donations impossible. I have a coworker (RacerDude) who wanted to donate blood and get on the National Bone Marrow Registry when another coworker's friend was dying of leukemia. RacerDude is pathologically afraid of needles. Nevertheless, he went down, did all the screening, and sat down for the needle. Unfortunately, every time they came near him with the needle, his blood pressure shot up to the point where they couldn't take blood. But he tried. I respect him more than I can say for that. People who suffer from this type of issue have a legit excuse. On the other side of the spectrum, I once dated a big, strong, thinks-he's-so-tough, Harley-riding, knife-wielding guy who also claimed he was afraid of needles when I invited him to go donate with me. I urged him to go, but he said he just couldn't bear it. Two months later, he started getting tattooed, spending tens of hours under a needle. So let me get this straight, if it benefits you, you're not afraid, but if it benefits someone else, you're afraid...?

Have you ever been to the hospital? Ever had non-elective surgery? Ever had a family member in an auto accident? Then you should recognize the need for blood. Every single person who is eligible to donate should make it a priority to go at least once a year. Widget Co. employees don't even have the excuse that it's hard to find time to go. The company sets it up and lets you go on work time!

If we all do this, then there would be no danger that, when your loved one is in desperate need, they could get turned away. Stop being selfish. It costs you nothing to share it. And you get cookies.

They don't answer, so please stop talking to them.

I'm a woman who, unfortunately, physically takes after her mother. Not too tall, high-arched feet, more than ample hips, and unnecessarily large breasts. It's this last feature that prompted this post, although I'm sure many less-overly-endowed women have the exact same complaint. It's been bugging me for years now. Am I complaining about the bra-strap trenches on my shoulders, the headaches caused by carrying the weight of young children on my chest, the second mortgage I had to take out on my house to afford a really good bra, or the fact that most blouse designers figure anyone who would buy their clothing must be an A cup? No. I'm talking about Boobtalkers.

What is a "Boobtalker" you ask? A Boobtalker is a man who, while holding a conversation with a woman, talks half to her face and half to her boobs. Does the Boobtalker think we can't tell the difference? Does he think we can't see his eyes repeatedly drop the 10-12 inches from our eyes? Does he think this is flattering? Does he think the boobs are fascinated by his conversation skills? Does he expect them to answer? AAAAAUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!

Seriously, guys. Women hate this. Hate. It. I really don't really care if you sneak a glance -- that's human nature. Maybe you're just checking out my necklace or something. Fine. But after that glance, leave it alone. Stop looking. I don't wear low-cut blouses or shirts two sizes too small to highlight the girls. I'm not seeking any attention for them, so leave them alone.

Here at Widget Co, most of my clients are men. Young, old, married, etc, they run the gamut. I would estimate that 20% of my clients and male coworkers are Boobtalkers. Some to a greater extent than others. With some, it's just a quick glance every 15 seconds; maybe this type of guy is just worried that something happened to them while he took a break to look at my eyes. With others, it's half a conversation directed at them. This is so utterly disrespectful and creepy that I actually find myself crossing my arms to protect them from further looks. I shouldn't have to do this!!

From now on, I'm going to call the Boobtalkers on it. I've done it before, just not here at work, but I've had enough. Stop the Boobtalkers ladies!! Fight back. Either call them on it or direct your conversation to their chests. Maybe they'll get the idea. Probably not....

Happy Easter. Happy Passover.

I hope everyone has a truly blessed Easter and/or Passover this year.

For your (secular) enjoyment, my very favorite easter-time cartoon:

What IS that???

I work in a fairly large department here at Widget Co. There are about 90 attorneys and maybe another 90 to 100 non-attorneys who are staff at varying levels, from my super-awesome assistant down to the guy who orders pens (who thinks he is a critical asset to the department and works harder than we could ever imagine, and, oh, yeah, he reports to the Big Cheese, but actually he just orders us pens -- more about him in a future post).

I have two attorney colleagues who have a habit that is so unprofessional and annoying that I feel I must vent about it or my head will explode and coat my wall with a new Jackson Pollack-esque painting (and I hate Jackson Pollack's work, so I can't let that happen). I'll give one of these individuals a free pass because he is part of a much earlier generation ... and he could fire me if he wanted to. The other, though, must be called out. Yes, BDub, I'm talking about you.

What does BDub do that's so repulsive? While he's sitting there talking to you, just holding a regular old conversation -- either work-related or snarking on coworkers -- and when you're completely unprepared, he "adjusts" himself. WTF? Seriously? Yes. Seriously. He grabs hold of the crotch of his pants and moves his anatomy over to what is, presumably, a more comfortable position. In front of people. In front of women. In meetings. At lunch. In the hallway. Multiple times. Who thinks this is ok???

We already live in a society that is so biased that it permits men to scratch themselves openly like they're trying to remove a tick from matted fur and still be "manly." As women, we cannot even sneak a scratch without losing our "lady"-ness (assuming we had it to begin with). We must hide in the ladies' room, or an office, or a dark corner, to relieve an itch, no matter how innocent. Very, very unfair. But now we must put up with men re-racking in public??

Women are supposed to have equal rights in our society, and Widget Co. tries very hard to make sure there is parity in the workplace. So does that mean when my bra is cutting into my ribs I can lift up my boobs and move everything around to a more comfortable position? Can I pull a nipple that got off-center back to where it should be? Or can I separate the girls if they start smooshing together? No. It doesn't. Why? Because I'm a lady. And because society says I can't.

But BDub can. Or he thinks he can. I say ENOUGH. If you know BDub, or have your own BDub where you work, start calling him on it. From this day forward, every time BDub touches himself in front of me, I'm going to return the favor. Every. Single. Time.

Los Angeles Traffic

I've lived in LA for a decade now, so I'm pretty used to bad traffic. Some days, it's worse than bad. The other day, there were accidents all over the freeways for some reason. No, it wasn't raining, or windy, or even overcast, and there hadn't been a series of truck accidents spilling vaseline all over the roads, but you'd think there had. I had a roommate years ago who firmly believed that it was just rude to have an accident on the freeway. (Of course, he also firmly believed it was normal to be in his late 20s, having never held a job in his life, being supported by his parents, and spending all night at strip clubs "trying to understand why the women choose this life.")

What is it about the sight of an accident that turns the brains of other drivers to pancake batter? Why is it necessary to slow to the speed of a squashed slug, craning one's neck to see the crushed cars? If you just drive normally, you would get home and get a better view on the news tonight, and I wouldn't be sitting behind you hoping your red blood cells spontaneously combust, causing your car to burst into flames, shooting you up and over the divider barricade into oncoming traffic, just so you're out of my way. Seriously, people! Even worse when it's on the other side of the freeway. You're not going to get to see a body -- just car blood. It's not that interesting. But people even do it when it's just a car on the shoulder with legs sticking out under it, presumably with a guy trying to fix his car on the fly. (Ok, if he had really been run over by his own car, and was trapped by the tired treads that had plastered his rib cage to the asphalt, I might think you have a reason to look -- but he hasn't, and he's not, so you don't!) Drive, already!!