all worked up because Smith college isn't as supportive as he wants them to be. Dude. It's a women's college. You aren't a woman (anymore)! Of course it's an issue.
Believe it or not, this became a big deal a couple years ago. Smith revised its student guide to remove the "discriminatory" female pronoun and replace it with something neutral.
(I think Smith gets a lot of F-to-Ms, because of the lesbian crowd. When I was on campus, a small minority of the women dressed like men every day, although I don't know whether any of them were actively transitioning, or just trying out the role.)
Wellesley is supposed to be the transgender "safe space" school, but Smith has got a lot of reasons to work up a policy on this kind of thing (whether or not the policy ends up being altogether inclusive).
Smith revised its student guide to remove the "discriminatory" female pronoun and replace it with something neutral.
And it's not like they're kicking out these two guys, but still -- it seems pretty obvious why they wouldn't be promoting their school as a safe space for (even recent) men. The official policy says they only admit women, but once you're in, you get to stay in.
Perkins! Snorkling with turtles sounds like fun!
It's really disheartening when a coworker interrupts your rant about the jackholes making you miserable to ask, "'Bob's your Uncle?' What does that mean?"
Especially if you answer, "And if your aunt had wheels she'd be a teacart."
True story: I used to be the computer trainer in our division office when they were very first shifting to computers. I'd sit beside one of the execs as they went through the checklist for logging on, getting to their folders, or exiting the program and logging off. There was one darling who just couldn't seem to retain anything, so I'd have to coach her every step, and force of habit, I'd add, "And Bob's your uncle," after the final one. Exasperated, she turned to me one day. "Beverly, I don't have an Uncle Bob, and you're not helping!"
When she moved into an apartment carved out of a huge old house, several of us, including DH, went over to help her move in. DH, being the handy fellow he is, ran dropcords so she could plug in lamps where there were no outlets, wired a fluorescent fixture into her closet, and rehung a couple of doors for her, all stuff she'd have had to hire done if DH hadn't volunteered.
While she was thanking him for the fourth or fifth solved problem, she suddenly blinked at him, "Are you my Uncle Bob?" And at her hometown wedding a few months later, DH went up to introduce himself to her father. "Hi, I'm C's Uncle Bob." And Dad knew who he was!
We're still looking, however, for that teacart.
I think it means, ita, that you and she kinda "matched" in some way, as if you planned ahead or heard that all the women in the office were going to be wearing red tops and black pants today.
I'd never heard the term "Bob's your uncle" before until one of my co-workers started using it. It was easy to suss what he meant, but it still sounds weird to me.
In morning annoyance news, the height adjustment on my beard trimmer decided to break this morning and drop to the lowest setting on the first pass. So not wanting to go for the reverse mohawk look with my goatee, I had to trim the rest to the same height, which is barely more than stubble. I was not amused.
I think it means, ita, that you and she kinda "matched" in some way, as if you planned ahead or heard that all the women in the office were going to be wearing red tops and black pants today.
I swear she was wearing a purple top and black pants. I'm in a black and white top and short red skirt. I can't pretend to understand.
So my cube-neighbour was offered an office. Not sure why, since there are four others of us at his level, and our level
doesn't
get offices. He didn't say he got a promotion when I asked him about it.
that's weird and annoying, ita.
Sleeping with the boss, clearly.
It sounds like you and the coworker could have fit into the "catalog page" thing we used to do at my old job when we weren't matchy-matchy, but somehow coordinating. I think that was just us, though.
Sleeping with the boss, clearly.
Paging brain bleach to the white courtesy phone...
I think that was just us, though.
Weirdos.
I could see she was going to talk to me about something (she's spoken to me once before about my LotR decorated desk), and I really thought it was the boots. I hate when people react to my clothes. That's exactly why I need Week of Dressing Dangerously--I'll currently wear anything, but I do need people to pretend I'm perfectly plainly garbed.
