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emmanation

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Archive for the ‘I'm a cranky brat’ Category

things that other people do poorly

Wednesday, September 28th, 2011

I feel like there are things about the world that other people should understand. Two people from yesterday in particular.

Let’s start with the complaint that’s going to make me sound like less of a intolerant craphead, ok?

Yesterday, after a loooong lecture and completely craptastic (and the word of the day is …. crap!) office hours, I walked the half mile back to my car.

I found a sticky note on my driver’s side window. It said ‘call me about your car 303-xxx-xxxx Alan’.

I WAS SO MAD, YOU GUYS.

Unnecessarily mad, really, but dude. What the hell. My first thought was that he’d hit me and was just really impolite about it. I walked around the car a couple of times and didn’t see anything, but seriously? My car is sort of trashed anyway. I wouldn’t have necessarily noticed a new ding.

My second thought was that he was mad that I was parked by the creek (in public parking) when I had a Mines permit sticker on my car. That’s just the only other thing I could think of that would cause someone to want to talk to me.

I didn’t want to deal with either of those things, but I called him and left a super pissed off message regarding the note. (That’s super pissed off in my mind – in reality I probably just sounded a little frustrated. I don’t do pissed off out loud very well.)

He called last night to tell me that he sells MOTHERFUCKING WINDSHIELDS.

Whatever. Douche. The note sounded like a command – and it was a sales pitch? Even if my windshield had literally shattered on the drive home, I wouldn’t have had him put in the new one. He clearly doesn’t understand… well, things. Like how to win over prospective customers.

The second person who did something weird and irritating (to me) yesterday was a generally nice fellow who’s in my Statistical Methods class. A class I’m taking, not teaching.

He came up to me and said ‘you have office hours, right?’ I said ‘… yes, for the undergrad prob stats kids.’ He said ‘I’m going to come by – you really helped me with my homework when we talked about it before class the other day’.

He didn’t ask if that would be all right, he just said it like a thing that was going to happen. It’s nice that our ten minute chat helped him, but I’m not his teacher. If he wants to work on homework together, I’d maybe try and find a time that wasn’t already set aside for another purpose. Instead, he wants to come in and supersede my undergrad kids with his graduate level not-my-problem issues.

Seriously, what? (Yes, this is probably not that irritating to anyone but me. Maybe it was the way he said it. Or maybe I’m ridiculous.)

Sometimes I just hate everyone.

Yesterday was one of those days.

goooOOOOOGle crisp

Friday, September 23rd, 2011

I don’t know why, but right now I want really badly to say ‘google’ like you say the ‘cookie’ in the cookie crisp commercials.

So yeah, Google. Today I had the opportunity to attend an event hosted at the Boulder Google office, called Google.GetAJob(). It was specifically for female college students in tech.

I was sofaking excited, you have no idea. I’m going to Google! Whooo hoo! I’m going to get to see the inside of the offices and talk to people who work there and YAY. They’re going to love me and offer me an job and I’m going to get to play with them forever and ever!

Everything you’ve heard about the offices is true. (I signed an NDA but I don’t think the presence of kitchens in their offices was covered, so I’m going to risk it – plus, it’s nothing that hasn’t been said before). There really is food within 300 feet of you at all times. There really are massages available three days a week. There is a ‘decompression room’ with curtained off lounge chairs. In the Boulder office, at least, there is a bouldering wall and a Rock Band set up. There are bean bag chairs.

There is a teepee.

There are two cafes in addition to the micro kitchens found every 300 feet.

Some of it’s a little silly. For example, the dishes in the cafeteria have color coded labels – green, yellow, and red. Green means good for you, red bad. I find that cute but oddly invasive. If you only provide foods you feel good about serving to your employees, that’s a little much, but at least you’re sticking with your guns. This way feels sort of shaming, which I’m never a fan of. ‘Should you be eating that? Are you sure?’

I’m being a little judgey, I know. I think that’s because of the point I’m about to make that I’ve taken my dear sweet time getting around to:

I didn’t like it there.

There were three main reasons.

First, everyone I had the opportunity to talk to was self congratulatory to the extreme. You know that famous speech they give at Ivy League schools – look left, look right, only one of you is going to make it here? It was like that, except everyone was young and pretty and called themselves Googlers. Perhaps that was a function of the type of individuals who volunteer to spend their day escorting a bunch of college women around, though?

Second, there were very few women there. The Boulder office has about 200 people, and I saw rooms full of men everywhere we went – and every woman I saw was somehow involved in the event. There was a definite feeling that they’d all been dragged front and center just to show us that they exist. According to the always reliable internets, Google gets somewhere between 1300 and 6000 applications a day. With that many applicants, if you can’t diversify, you’re not trying. (The event was ostensibly a step in the right direction, but they weren’t actually recruiting us and one person actually told me that they find men do better with their interviews so they’re trying to help us interview like men. If your interview process isn’t bringing in the range of employees that you want, does it make more sense to change the process or to change the applicants? Oh wait, I know this one – THE PROCESS.)

Third and most importantly, the amenities felt like slight of hand. I can’t think of any better way to explain it.

  • ‘So what kind of hours do the employees on this project put in?’ ‘Hey look, a teepee!’
  • ‘What’s the plan for diversifying the workforce?’ ‘The air in the office is cleaner than the air outside!’
  • ‘What kind of opportunities are there for working with the research group?’ ‘Let’s go look at the Flatirons from the private deck!’ (Yes, they were gorgeous. Obviously.)
  • ‘What’s your favorite thing about working here?’ ‘Here, have a Google tee shirt!’

Oh, also a fourth thing:

I was given these two stickers simultaneously. (If you can’t see it, one is a sticker that says ‘I’m a woman in tech. That doesn’t mean everything has to be pink.’ The other is the Google name with the second o replaced by a female sign that’s pink.)

COME ON, GOOGLE.

I’m disappointed. I really wanted them to love me – it never even occurred to me that I wouldn’t love them. After I got home, I did some perusing, and I quite a bit of proof that Google is not for everyone. (No one on that thread explaining why they left mentioned the unfortunate male/female ratio – but it appears that no one on that thread is a woman, either.)

I feel like Google was my career Santa Claus, and I just found out it he’s actually a regular dude in a fake beard.

I hope no one ever offers to let me tour Whole Foods.

P.S. Just to head this off – yes, Google’s male/female engineer ratio is probably similar to other big technology companies. A) I don’t think that’s ideal anywhere, and B) IT’S GOOGLE. They set the bar higher all by themselves, it’s only fair for me to ask them to live up to that.

dieting while feminist

Monday, September 19th, 2011

I’m giving up sugar for a week. (It’s being documented on Mangled Baby Duck (by me) if you’re interested.)

The primary reason I’m giving up sugar is because all I’ve developed some crappy eating habits over the summer. Everything was vacation, so why pay attention to how many chips I was putting down?

Also, though?

I’m hoping to lose a couple of pounds.

Body acceptance (healthy at every size ftw) is sort hard to consolidate with dieting. Am I not applying the same acceptance to myself as I do to others, etc?

Here’s the thing, though.

My Joe’s Jeans don’t fit.

People, I have ONE PAIR of really nice jeans. Every other pair I own came from Gap, on sale. (That’s not to say that Gap jeans aren’t nice – they are. They’re just not nice nice.) My Joe’s Jeans make me look and feel awesome. And they don’t stretch. And since this summer, my waist and the jeans haven’t been as friendly as they once were. The jeans still button, but I can only wear them while standing up.

So – I’m trying to be healthier, yes. Tortilla chips and beer are really only probably part of a well balanced diet, and it’s good for me to make an effort to move away from mass consumption of those items. Also, though? I’m trying to get my damn jeans to fit.

Is it not feminist to care about my expensive clothes? I actually don’t know. I know that I feel sort of bad, but that it is important to me. I like having nice (and stylish) things, and I can’t afford to get a new pair right now. (There are probably other things in my closet that will benefit from a slight pound reduction too).

I feel … inconsistent.

Perhaps it’s because I haven’t had any sugar in two days and my capacity for intellectual thought seems to be directly linked to my carbohydrate intake.

Or perhaps it’s because I’m not practicing what I preach.

I genuinely don’t know.

tears in Starbucks

Friday, September 16th, 2011

I’m not equating Starbucks with heaven, here.

Yesterday, I had a short day on campus (done at 11 due to a cancellation by my grader, who I am starting to think is never actually on campus yay!). I dragged my ass to the gym when I got back to Louisville, and then immediately headed over to Starbucks to meet the lovely Laura.

I beat her there.

I ordered some hot tea.

I found a table, set down my tea, set down my laptop, took off my jacket, and got ready to sit down. In the process of sitting down, I put my hand on the corner of the table, which, it turns out?, was not totally stable.

The tea that had been handed to me 25 seconds earlier spilled all over my forearm, and then my pants and school bag, and then the floor.

People immediately started handing me napkins and a very nice woman went up to the counter to ask for a towel. The barista told her they’d send someone out with a mop in a second.

I didn’t have more napkins, so I just stood there waiting – and I realized that my arm was burnt.

Like, burnt burnt.

I started to cry.

There was literally nothing I could do about it. It hurt like a motherfucker, my bag was wet, my pants were wet, and even my laptop had a few drops on it.

Everyone was looking at me, and I was crying. Like, tears streaming down my face crying, not like big whopping gasps of air snotty nose crying.

The thing is, it actually doesn’t sound that terrible. I mean, the burnt arm sucks. The barista gave me some burn cream as soon as she saw it, and I rinsed it under cold water and then slathered that on. Now it really only looks like a bad sunburn. The rest, though, what? It’s not like I know those people. It was like three Starbucks away from my home Starbucks (yes, a ‘Starbucks’ is a valid unit of measure). I won’t see any of them again, and they could all see that I was burnt, and probably they weren’t judging me anyway because people don’t really think that much about other people.

But still.

The rest of the day, I cried off and on. I said something sweet to Laura and got teary. Laura said something sweet to me and I got teary. Crockett ate something that I wanted to eat and I cried. I took a shower and it was hot and I cried. I scraped my arm with my jacket and I cried. We went to eat pizza with my mom and we got a table I didn’t like and I welled up.

I’m not actually sure what was going on. I don’t know if I felt dumb and that made me sensitive, or if my arm made me sensitive, or what.

All I know is that immediately following my tears in Starbucks, the whole rest of my day blew.

Starbucks is definitely not heaven.

friends

Thursday, August 25th, 2011

Yesterday was a long, long day, but not a terrible one. I had classes and meetings and then more classes and then more meetings and then a departmental orientation, followed by a pizza party.

I attended everything but the pizza party. When the pizza boxes opened and the other students descended on them with such rapidity that I’m pretty sure several of them accidentally ate parts of the cardboard boxes, I snuck out the back.

Yesterday, while sitting in my first class, I tweeted

@dollemma Guys, I found all the girls at my school! Turns out they were hiding in statistics courses.

My first class had 13 people in it, and 9 of them were women.

More than a few of them were women who had worked for awhile and then come back to school.

It’s basically like someone custom designed some friends for me and then shoved us all into a room together. “Here. You’re all 28 (cough*giveortake*cough) and you all like math and you are all going to be sitting here, three times a week, learning the same things. You’re welcome.”

Some of them already knew each other, and one was acting as social director for those who didn’t…

and I totally ignored them.

I was trying to explain why to Crockett, but I really have nothing. It may have been shyness, honestly, or it may just have been that I had other stuff to worry about on that first day of school.

Or, it may have been that I’m damn stingy with my time and have enough friends already, thankyouverymuch.

I could have had pizza with them. But I came home and had pizza with Crockett and my girls instead.

Antisocial for the win.