Smartassery

Keeping up with the Joneses sometimes entails you having to swallow all previous smack-talk of child-free existence and popping or buying, as it may be the case (I’m looking at you Madonna), the 1.5 token kids.

If you are a self-absorbed, deranged VC living in a parallel universe (much like Madonna et al) where the Sun (and all the planets-obviously, less poor demoted Pluto) revolves around you, then you quickly come to the realization that establishing a connection with your baby once a week most likely will interfere with your weekly athletic adventures. Clearly, there’s only one thing to be done. Ha! and it’s not what you are thinking, you human you…

Week 1
Single BFF: Are you up to play tennis this weekend or do you have to babysit?

Incubus: Psssshhhh, hell yeah, I’m up to it. Say, why doesn’t your fiancee stay with Pilar while we ride across the Golden Gate? Five hours tops. That way she can get her ‘baby’ fix… Then they could go to the Marina and hang out there in the grass. Oh, and she could do all of Pilar’s calisthenics which my wife is punctilious about, oh and also do the feedings. I’ll bring the baby food so your fiancee doesn’t have to buy anything. I mean why go through the rigmarole of arranging for a babysitter when your fiancee is available, right?

SBFF: Errr, so I asked my fiancee and turns out she’s more into her weekend sleep than your baby so I guess the answer is no. 

You would think this is the end of this, as a normal person would quickly catch the drift, and my dear reader, as usual, you would be wrong.

Week 2
SBFF: Tennis this Saturday, anyone?

I: I could, if and only if, your fiancee can watch Pilar while we play. A win/win.

SBFF: Gosh darnit, I didn’t see your reply on time and made other plans. Ah, another time then. Tut tut.

So yeah, still here. However, at the moment actively looking for another demon to sell my soul to support. Pffft…

Today Incubus waltzed in (it is his custom to waltz into places with hands propped up on his hips or arms flailing about, or both) and handed me a pile of magazines.

Incubus: I get all these magazines at home and it has become frightfully…well it is just a mess! Ah and I tell you…

Beatrix Kiddo: The point please

I: So I want you to cancel them

Of course I have to do it so I politely take them out of his blessed hands and retreat bowing to my desk snatch them from his paws.

And then, AND THEN, I discover that they are all Succubuss subscriptions. Naturally, she cannot possibly take a break from pointing at flower vases for the maid to move to make 10 phone calls. Riding your house staff is serious business.

7:30am
Hysterical call and email from Incubus regarding the tracking of a package being delivered today. 

8:00am
Incubus hysterically flapping around the office asking where the coffee machine is. - In the kitchen counter, where it usually hangs out, duffus.

8:03am
Incubus comes out of kitchen with dumbfounded look. Where is the coffee? - On top of aforementioned coffee machine for Pete’s sake. Look the fuck around.

8:30am
Hysterical e-mail #2 about stupid package - Things haven’t changed one bit, online tracking still shows “Package being delivered today to your location.” Mkay.

9:00am

Meeting #1 - Go down to the lobby to get visitor into the building because fucking intercom to buzz him in is not working. Naturally.

9:25am
Incubus comes out of meeting to ask where his package is? - In the hands of the delivery guy. He insists I call the driver. Sure, let me pull the driver’s # out of my ass and I’ll get right on it.

10:00am
Meeting #2 - The fun up and down the elevator continues. After a whole month of having no meetings Incubus has decided to pile them all on the one day when I’m the busiest due to impending vacation. Fucking brilliant.

10:45am
Incubus ends his meeting abruptly and shoves woman out the door. He also wants to know if the package was delivered - Gee I haven’t heard that one before. Does the package contain the lost Holy Grail perhaps? No, it is his non-denominational holiday cards. Whee!

11:00am
Incubus goes out to lunch not before telling me that I have to print out his job hunting kit. 20 copies for an interview he has in another state a couple of days later - What’s the big deal you ask?

Whereas yours and mine will most likely contain 1 resume and possibly one other sheet of paper, what this mammal refers to as his resume kit is composed of:

• the resume (4 pages long)
• the press kit (80 pages long) - this is a compilation of all the shit he has talked to bored journalists over the years
• the deal sheet (100 pages long) - a compilation of all the deals he’s never done but is taking credit for nonetheless
• the picture album (30 pages long) - an homage to himself from the days when he hung out in an afro and tight baby blue shorts with a bunch of other dudes…I’m not kidding
• the digest of the company he is interviewing with (50-500 pages long) - this is like the spy report. For each person who works in the company he is interviewing with (so if 500 people, then 500 reports) I have to put together their bio, news articles, board of directors they serve on and what those companies do, who they sleep with (if available), if they are connected to Incubus through several networking sites, and if they have any weird sexual preferences. Well that last one is not true but I swear he’s going to ask me one day.

There goes my lunch. Instead I have to stay in and paste labels on all of this shit. I pray to the paper god so the printer cooperates and doesn’t take a shit as it is its custom.

1:00pm
Incubus is back from lunch with Succubus. At least he had the decency to make it a long lunch. The female demon proceeds to try and distract me from wrestling with the printer to ask me about the package. I shoot her the thousand yard stare and she retreats.

1:03pm
Incubus comes out of the bathroom and asks about the weather. Just kidding! It is naturally about the package. I track it online and it shows as “delivered and left at the front porch.” That sounds suspiciously like it was delivered at someone’s house so I ask him through gritted teeth “could it have possibly been sent to your house?” “Absolutely not” he says “I remember putting my work address.”

1:05pm
I call the delivery company where I quickly learn that it was sent to the demons’ lair. AS I FUCKING KNEW IT! Succubus calls their nanny who evidently speaks ZERO English. They must communicate about feedings and diaper changes through smoke signals. Ugh. I take the phone away from her and have the best conversation ever as we tear those assholes in half.

1:20pm
Incubus tells me that I need to ship some shit he sold on Ebay on Monday. I remind him I’ll be on vacation, the very one that he is forcing me to take because apparently one week of my miserly vacation being carried over would break the company books. Then he says “fine, I’ll use the assistant from our neighbor.” To this I counter “why don’t you, for once, pack the stuff you sold, take a big marker and write down the address, and take it down to the post office in the lobby?”

He stares at me as if this is not even within the realm of possibilities. I can see his eyes are starting to cross so I concede “I will do it on Monday but be advised I’m not counting Monday as a vacation day then.” Up your ass clown.

2:35pm
Incubus decides that he wants to have the mobile numbers of all the people in the office next door. Squeeze me? What on earth for?! “Oh, just in case I have an emergency and you are not here” he says. “Yeah, but they don’t work for you and wouldn’t be able to help you anyways” I counter. He still wants them. I go next door an request the digits. Hilarity ensues. I come back with their message which was long but I will shorten here for purposes of readability. The message is “NO.”

2:00pm
Incubus complains how he’s trying to export his contacts in Outlook but he doesn’t see the option. Of course you don’t. One more hour wasted troubleshooting his filthy laptop all while keeping an eye on the bleeping print job.

3:00pm
Meeting #3 - Yay! Let’s do the ride thing!

4:30pm
Incubus calls me into his office to go over “things.” Gggggrrrr. I’m working you fucker! He starts the meeting with:

Incubus: I know you don’t want to go on vacation…

Beatrix Kiddo: Oh no, I can’t wait to go. Trust me. I need this vacation

I: Well I need this stuff shipped

BK: I thought that matter was settled already. I’ll ship your crap.

I: Ok. I also need this extra piece of furniture in my office taken away (a 10 lbs desk)

BK: Why don’t we do it now? (so you stop whining about it already - Then he proceeds to stand by as I wrestle the desk out of its spot, lift it and put it in the hallway). Thanks for the help, really I couldn’t have done it without you

I: Next I’d like to hang my paintings and frames over the office

BK: Sure. That could be a great project for you while I’m gone (task deflected biatch)

I: There’s also a financing that needs to take place next Friday so I need help with that

BK: Negative, I’ll be on vacation

I: Well, everyone will be on vacation and it needs to be done. I’m not asking for anything special here, just faxing the forms to the bank buah buah buah

BK: (My one pet peeve in life is whiny people but especially men, drives me to insanity) Fine I’ll do it. However, I’d like to stress out how much I won’t be counting that Friday as a vacation day either.

I: Well that’s not really true, it would take you only minutes

BK: It is now (tread carefully big boy)

I: Ok

Leave it to the ladies to resuscitate the dying SNL skit:

http://www.radaronline.com/exclusives/2008/09/sarah-palin-tina-fey-staurday-night-live.php

Incubus: Beatrix it seems like there was a mistake in the quarterly report

Beatrix Kiddo: Where?

I: See it appears that there’s one word that is not aligned with the rest of the others

BK: I see, the one that’s off by one letter to the right?

I: Yes that one. I think we need to reprocess the whole thing (because of course that is super easy to do, in fact I press this read button right here and…)

The least of your concerns should be the misaligned word. How about we focus on the Ending Capital Balance line that shows this -$7,899,541 on an investment of this much $15,000,000?

How about we prioritize?

All things have a place in the universe. They also have laws. For example, a predator is a carnivore. Law of nature. My dog licks his balls. Bam! Law of nature. Incubus is a scamming thief. Law of motherfucking nature.

Time Thief: So Beatrix my laptop broke  

Beatrix Kiddo: (eye roll square) What is this? The 17th laptop? Are you trying to get into the Guiness Book of World Records?

TT: Well this time I think it is the hard drive. Doesn’t get recognized. Can you tinker with it?

BK: No. I’m not a computer expert. Can’t do (unless that is you want to pay me the $200/hour you pay the asshole computer guy)

TT: Well ok, just call Dell and get them to exchange it under the warranty

BK: That I can do

Three minutes later…

TT: Oh and tell them to send the latest model with double the gigabytes and RPMs

Sure. Off to the bin of “in your dreams cowboy.” For shits and giggles and because I love proving myself right I called Dell and asked exactly that…with the straightest face and level of composure I could muster. Luckily, Bon Qui Qui answered the phone on their side. So I put her on speaker and it sounded exactly like this:

Bon Qui Qui: Girrrrl, you trippin’?

BK: Well actually this is my boss’ request not mine. I already told him that this is not the way it works with exchanges

BQQ: Well, he dreaming or huat? If he wants to puts a claim under quarenty, he will be getting exactly whatevers was in the laptop before. When he first gotz it. No nothing extra. Exchanges are not upgrades. U-huh. Tell him to best be ordering a new one if he wants to do that. Shiiiiiiitttttt. Ha ha ha. He so funny. Child phluease!

Usually when I do this, Time Thief will fly over to my desk, jump in the conversation, and try to argue with the rep. This time…err not so much.

So I yelled “TT do you have any other questions about the battery?” Crickets crickets and deafening silence. I reckon no balls to throw it down with Bon Qui Qui.

Time Thief: Beatrix, could you make a note to tell the building that the window in my office looks dirty from the outside?

Beatrix Kiddo: (munching through inhaling lunch) Hmmm…what?

TT: Yes, it’s totally messy. I’d like them to clean it up

BK: Sure (I’ll put it in the bin of “it never will happen”)

This deranged lunatic expects the landlord to dangle an employee from the roof of a 35 story down to the 27the floor of commercial building, which by the way got all its windows cleaned two months ago, to clean his window. One window! 1!!!

What.The.Fuck.

It’s no secret that TwatHead Ventures is the most unsuccessful venture capital firm that ever was. Odds are pretty high that if we (and by we, I mean they) fund it, whatever venture it happens to be, it will end as a catastrophic failure.

To put it in perspective, if THV would have funded Google, Yahoo’s stock would be now trading at $600.

Quel surprise then that every time we send out a capital call or a quarterly report, the hategrams flood our email. Examples sil vous plait:

“This is awesome news. Yet more portfolio companies are going under! By September we should aim to just have one investment in the portfolio. I really don’t know how you manage to pick the worst promising companies but you definitely should turn this into a profession. Oh wait, you have!”

“According to the attached report, you are reinvesting (and I use that term loosely) all the gains from selling company X, which may I add sold for a ridiculous low valuation. The end result is that we, the investors, get screwed again with no gains to speak of. How dare you speak of good results and a promising outlook?!”

“Another capital call? What the heck for? I would have achieved a better return on my investment by just handing my wife a wad of cash. Ten years of giving you money have had the same effect as setting a bag of Franklins on fire and then me having to pay the firefighters for the damage caused.”

“I have decided not to fund the capital calls anymore seeing as just keeping the funds under the mattress is achieving a greater rate of return for me. I am hereby giving you permission to sue me for not funding. I bet you don’t even have the money to pay the lawyers that judging by your piss poor performance so far.”

“The only constant in my investment with your company has been the blazing speed at which it has careened down hill from the start.”

“Thank you for forwarding the latest installment of the funnies. At our house we eagerly await their quarterly delivery as they have the curious effect of making me piss in my pants laughing at my wife’s lack of business sense. There are not many things I can call her out on so I welcome the opportunities you deliver. This is better than the Dilbert strip.”  

“I hate you all.”

“Cocksuckers.”

Incubus has confided in me that he wants to give his wife a nice 40th birthday gift. Does he think I’m all that trustworthy? Nope, he just wants me to organize the whatever it is he wants to do for her. Blimey.

The plan is to take her camping to Yellowstone National Park. With the baby… of less than 1 year of age. Exactly what the fuck do you do while camping with an infant?! I suppose the extended plan is to pitch a tent and sit outside all weekend long, within reach of the formula and pampers.

Right, ok so here come the thousand questions and the huge waste of my time. I essentially get paid to eat shit with Incubus personal projects all day long.

Incubus: Did you reserve the tent that I wanted?

Beatrix Kiddo: No. I rented you a room at the hotel near the park

I: Oh how come?

BK: Several reasons. First one is that the tents don’t have private bathrooms like you wanted

I: They don’t?! It wasn’t clear from the website but I could’ve sworn

BK: (Speechless with contempt) #1 It’s a tent and #2 the website says “none of the tents have plumbing. A communal bathroom and showers are provided for your use” (I know you like to push the envelope but geez)

I: And the other reason?

BK: No babies allowed at the camps

I: Why?!

BK: (Dude, isn’t it obvious?!) Well for one they make noise and it bothers other campers

I: Pshhh, there are fat German tourists snoring and they are not banned

BK: (First, I didn’t set the rules here buddy, your counter argument is lost on me) Also, you cannot bring food into the camps, you’ll only consume food from the cafeteria

I: Well that’s not a problem

BK: Really? How are you going to feed the spawn? The main reason is that it is Bear Country and bears are attracted to food and defenseless screaming little creatures (well the spawn being the daughter of the devil and all might be a bear’s worthy contender but I digress)

I: Oh that’s not an issue, I could defend her

I think Incubus has lost it. He pretends he is going to the home of the grizzly bear (aka the most aggressive of all bears mind you and may I add with no known predators) with his penchant for not following the rules, a can of mace, and zero survival skills (and lack of assistant nearby to save his unconditioned ass) and he’s actually banking on making it out of there alive. How’s that for faith?!

For shits and giggles I should suggest covering the entire family in honey. Same ending, only quicker.

PS: Incubus, if this is the plan, please let me know so I can arrange to be in the area with a high powered camera.

The ocassion: Company’s non-denominational holiday dinner

The location: The ghastly hunting club that gives everyone the creeps (…plus food poisoning)

The guests: All the slaves  employees, the bosses, and their idiot wives (and this time around also their kids…kids!)

Now, Incubus and Succubus have a penchant for doing seating arrangements because they swear that they are the ultimate authority in throwing dinner parties. They have a blast doing this while everyone else is bloody miserable. Explain to me, what on earth I have in common with a spoiled and bratty 12 year old, whose father I’m not in the very least fond of.

But this time, they arrived late. Life-after-spawn has turned into a battle mission every time they go out. It takes them no less than 1 hour to get settled into the car and another hour to get out of the car. Good for me because I got to sit everyone exactly where I wanted. Carefully making sure I was in the complete opposite end of the table from everyone else.

But then…

Incubus: Beatrix I need you to change seats with Succubus

Beatrix Kiddo: Err, how come?

I: Because she has the spawn and she is getting a draft

BK: (I fucking hate how I am supposed to be responsible for everyone else’s choice to reproduce) But I have a cold. The draft would make it worse!

I: But the baby…

BK: Tell you what. Since I’m going to get worse if I sit there for the evening, why don’t we just agree that I’ll “work from home” for the next two days. After all I wouldn’t want to give you a cold. My main concern here being for the spawn getting sick too, of course

Muahahaha…caught between my sword of righteousness and a hard spot. It’s great to get to update the blog from the comfort of my own house, legs propped up on the couch and a glass of wine nearby. Long live the baby (and anything I can mooch off of Incubus in her name)!

Evil is contagious.