Sup, Harpy?

A few things I'd like to point out to the office Harpy:


1. It's called epilepsy, bitch.

When I bust ass outta there because I'm going to have a seizure, it's not "a convenient excuse" it's my neurological system taking a dump. Last time I ignored it, I ended up with a black eye so horrific, it was swollen shut for 3 weeks.



2. You are not allergic to every goddamn scent I own.

The Dark Lily scent gave you a headache, you claimed. Sure, I can see it. It's a heady scent. So I used the lightest shit I had, so light you had to be right fucking next to me to smell it. You were, and you complained. Even our boss pointed out that you seem to be "allergic" to every single scent I wear, including the orange-scented hand lotion I used. But only my scents. Gimme a break.



3. It seems that every single noise bothers you. Buy headphones.

You don't like music being played around you. Okay, sure, some people need quiet. Then you complained that I talked too loud when I asked a question. Fine, I'll e-mail the questions. But then! Then you bitched that my fucking keyboard was too loud. Look, if every single sound in the office bothers you, I suggest you either 1) look for a job or 2) buy some noise cancelling headphones.



4. Word has it you're jealous that I'm young & smart. I suggest you STFU.

I overhead you bitching that I was young, pretty, and "some kind of wunderkind" because I caught on very quickly and have proceeded to rock the shit out of my job. Look, Harpy, I cannot help that my Mama crapped me out a good 20 years after you. I cannot help that the symetry Gods smiled on my face. Nor can I help that my tits and ass are still perky. Here's the thing; they aint gonna stay this way forever, so by God I'm gonna enjoy it while it lasts. As for the smart issue, I can't help that either. If anything, I'm just going to get smarter as I learn more. So STFU and go back to being miserable.



5. I know why your Secret Santa hasn't gotten you anything...

Because the one person who likes you didn't pull your name. Seriously, that's the long and the short of it. Nobody likes you, hon.





Have a Merry Christmas from my perky ass to yours.