Rude.

I constantly perplexed at the number of pencil pushers who feel the need to be outright rude and unhelpful when dealing with their fellow human beings.

Let me explain.

I have done some work for a former colleaque who runs a successful software business. The kind of work I have done is marketing - developing marketing material for his products. I do it because I like the work (sort of) and I need to keep my skills current. And it's something I can do from home.

But listen, this guy and his company are classic procrastinators. They set deadlines and don't get back to you until the day before, drop out of the communication loop for days on end, and fancy themselves marketing experts (read: taste experts). So given that I am writing copy, developing web sites, designing brochures, organising printers and distribution - a simple little job adds up to a lot of work. I know that, and I do it anyway for the reasons above.

And then comes payment time. Bear in mind, because I do this 'unofficially' from my home, I do a deep discount on what it would cost him to go elsewhere. Because as I have said, I need the business and quite frankly, the extra money and let's face it - he'd probably get much flashier promo bumf elsewhere.

But I am not a company, and in order to get paid, I need to juggle all sorts of things and call in favours from other people who are grownups with companies, so that I can invoice him.

Sometimes, I forget.

So back to my story. I sent an invoice for my time and work at the end of August. Payment terms are and always have been 7 days from invoice date. Last week (two and plus weeks later if you are counting), after being told by my friend that the invoice had been sent out, and he was upset I hadn't got it - I get a call from some boffin in his accounting department.

Who is fucking rude. Pompous, cutting and rude. The convo went something like this:

"Is this Stressmagnet?"
"Yes it is - whom am I speaking to?
""It's Asshole here, I have a very very big problem with your invoice."
"Oh yeah, sorry to hear it. Why is that?"
""Because you have invoiced us in your name without a tax file number and this is very wrong. I will only pay you 48% of the invoiced amount and you can claim it back from the taxation office."
"Oh. Well,  this was a personal job for Friend, and that's why there's no taxation number." (I know stupid)
""I do not care that it was a personal job, it is very wrong and I will only pay you 48%."
"Hold on, hold on - I'll send you another invoice okay?"
<'he hangs up on me>

So I call another friend and get him to make me an invoice on his company's letterhead and then I scan it into my PC and send it to my Buddy as a PDF (which is how I've sent every damn document before this), asking him to send it on to the 'gentleman in accounting' (my exact words). Nothing more, not a whit of nastiness or anything. I did ask, given the delay in the payment, if in fact, the funds could go into my bank account. But if not, no problem, just let me know.

Silence. for almost another week. Until I send Asshole a query email asking him if he did in fact receive the email, to which I get a snotty reply that he had already replied, the 'gentlemen' in question was HIM and in fact he had two MORE problems - he can't print it out and he won't make out the cheque to me because I am not a company. AND that there was no delay in his payment. Get my facts straight.

Well shit. He obviously just cannot be bothered to print it out - and fucker, if you don't tell me you have a problem with the invoice until two weeks after I emailed it to you - and you don't tell your Boss either so he looks like a liar - then I would indeed say we have a delay in my fucking payment.

What gets me, is his overt hostility to me. I've done nothing to him, I've kept my emails informal and friendly and there's no need for him to be such a prat. So now I have sent the damn thing to my husband, who will print it out and fax it to Asshole.

To me, it is how you treat people that gets you work. Or clients. Or repeat business.

I always go the extra mile for my clients, and always try and take a little off the top. I am friendly, I rearrange things when I am on a job, because I know that businesses don't care whether your child is sick or you have to go to Swimming lessons. That's part of the unwritten contract when you work from home. But in return, I expect respect, courtesy and some leeway in the fact that this is informal, such as - I understand you have last minute changes, you understand that my kids often take the opportunity when I am on the phone to shriek like banshees and,  I informally take 10% off the price -  you informally expedite my payment anyway you can without making me feel like shit.

Quid pro quo, ya dig?

Because I could write a stinging email to your Boss and phrase it in such a way that you will rue the day you tried to boost your flaggin ego at my expense. I will get you exiled to a rural bus station selling one day cut rate excursions to the local cannery. Just because you are the kind of person who personifies assholedom, doesn't mean you can treat me like shit.

I have yet to send another email. I have not yet decided whether to let it go, or be petty and vengeful.

This made me laugh and laugh and laugh. What are the chances of this coming up at this point in time?

Maybe my daughter should have this tattooed on her face.

On second thoughts, I probably should.

Thanks ignatzmi!

Dump

All I want is for my friends to be happy and cared for and feel cherished. All that seems to be happening with one particular friend is that she wears the shit sombero while tap dancing on the toilet seat.

This whole 'love' thing has me flummoxed. Really. Here I am a woman of a certain age, and I have probably never ever been in love the way the books and movies and poems all yodel about. PUHLEESE.

Oh wait, when I was 15 and in love with Phil Corbett (Phil, are you out there?). I was dreamy and flustered and couldn't think about anyone else. All this for a guy with muttonchop sideburns. At relatively conservative calculations, I have slept with a bunch o' men (not really that many, but enough to be interesting)  and had monogamous relationships numbering three. That's right - three. Including the current one. At some point, before I lived with them, I went through that goopy stuff for about a nanosecond - long enough to agree to share their living space (and in two cases, their legal rights). But in each and every case, that wore off pretty quick.

In the first case, I dumped him. In the second case, I divorced him and in the third, I have decided that genuine affection and heartfelt interest in how he does, is enough to keep me married. (And the fact we have two kids, of course). I suppose this would hurt him deeply if he read it - but it shouldn't. As far as I am concerned, what I have now, the real stuff, the stuff about when he snores you don't fantasize about killing him (well you might, but it would be quick and painless) and the dirty socks on the floor and his inability to hold a job for longer than 2 paychecks -- is what a good relationship is all about. You take the good with the bad, clear-eyed; with nerves of steel to see it through. You base the relationship on mutual respect (as in, he may ball up his sports socks, but he comes home early to take care of the kids when I am feeling sick vs. I am an untidy untidy person who can't fold laundry to save her life, but I cook his dinner every night) and hang on for the bumpy ride.

The goopy dreamy stuff doesn't go the distance.

If  all this respect and understanding and tolerance vanishes (because let's face it, tolerance is a big fucking part of two people living together) that's when you call it quits. And you have the grace and the foresight to end it with the respect you lost along the way. Why? Because you were once loved, and you once loved them.

All my exes - even the ones that ended messily - still respect me. They don't gossip about me, they don't tear me down to mutual friends, they don't gang up on me. Because at heart they were good men, and at heart, I am a good woman, despite my many faults.

Don't treat your exes like shit, people. It makes you look small and mean and childish. And it makes them glad you are gone. Try to be remembered as a wonderful interlude in a rich life - not as a black hole where nothing existed but hate and anger.

Diva.

More on the daughter below. I am starting to think she will need to go on stage. Give her any opportunity at all, and she bursts into song and wiggles around like some sort of demented Moulin Rouge dwarf. I am at a loss to understand where this urge to perform comes from, since I was the type of kid who quietly went to the bottom of the garden to look for fairies. I was the type of child who sat in corners, reading books. I shunned people. She on the other hand, goes to the bottom of the garden to order the fairies around and dance the fairy dance loudly over and over and over in front of an audience of imaginary thousands.

My computer is right underneath her room, and as part of my sanity program, I insist that the child who-never-shuts-up, retires there for some 'quiet time' each day. During that time, she must entertain herself, hopefully (but rarely) quietly. Sitting here, I can hear her voice narrating some long convoluted story to her dollies and leaping up and down off the bed while she acts out all 187 parts. The leaping is accompanied by various squeaky voices and general hilarity. Often she disappears into her room, only to come out dressed like a crazy bag woman - today's outfit was  purple spotted highheeled boots, a pink striped miniskirt, an gold sequinned glitter top from god knows where, black and yellow bee striped stockings, a pink plastic handbag, a clothespinned towel around her neck, a tiara and the piece de resistance - a foam rubber pig mask.

I nearly choked into my coffee.

Plah.

My head hurts because I have a boatload of snot in it due to the umpteenth cold I have caught from one or both of my children. I swear, I've been sick since June. Furthermore, I have a shitload of stuff I've written that I'd like to put up here (to make up for not doing it for over 6 months) but I cannot be arsed. Life is too tough lately. I need to deal with manageable problems. Such as raising children to be little drones.

My kid is in trouble at preschool for calling another child a 'fucking idiot'. I personally don't get what the problem is - from all accounts, the child in question is in fact, an incredible fucking idiot. However, little girls shouldn't say such things, even if the fucking idiot is trying to hold her down and kiss her after she said no. I explained to the preschool that she was just 'using her words' which is something they repeat ad nauseam to the little dears - but apparently, there are acceptable words and unacceptable words.

Just like kids, I guess.

I need to sit her down and tell her that Mummy prefers to call people 'twats' lately. That's a much better word.