Women Are Nastier Bullies


Across time, age and countries, the fairer sex has been looked upon as the softer ones: caregivers, expected to nurse and babysit families, never mind what Google Map says about your location coordinates.

The softer, maternal aspect of humanity, turns out, is also the nastier bully in real life situations if Dr. Garie Namy of the Workplace Bullying Institute is to be believed.

  1. There is an institute for workplace bullying?
  2. Ermahgaad. Weren’t women nice?
  3.  Just kidding. Yes and no, respectively. (Duh.)

You are the Mother of All Forgetful People if you are forgetting that this face of femaledom has been captured on celluloid ages back and over again: remember Mean Girls?

While growing up, it seems to me that girls internalize this habit of criticizing each another and in no tome, it comes pretty naturally.

It is the girl equivalent of excited teenage boys discussing their first mustache.

A better looking pair of earrings, an unusual lip color, anything,  they all popularly evoke hotdog feelings. Samantha Brick from Daily Mail, UK talks of being hated for being pretty. Not cool.

People want to be smart. So smart people pay you bad compliments that make the rest of your day suck.

Step 1: Ensure no ducks are given.

The number of smart people around, my, it isn’t any wonder that most forget when the yapping needs to stop. Call me boring, but gossip hasn’t done much good in the world, yes?

It hasn’t fed hungry kids, it hasn’t cleaned up slums, and it hasn’t educated people… It has only entertained you for a few minutes each day at the cost of someone’s peace of mind.
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Would you?


Ritika has asked me to write a guest blog which is an honor, but it’s also terrifying! After all, she and I only know each other via our blogs, she’s young and I’m not-so-young, we live in different countries and, well, what if she doesn’t like what I write?

Okay, here goes!

If a blind, three-legged dog limped into your life, what would you do?

Would you caress the sleep out of his pale eyes?

Would you try to find out who abandoned him?

Would you ring animal welfare agencies to take him away?

Would you keep him, love him, look after him?

You would have to make some choices, wouldn’t you?

If a bird flew against your window, and fell to the ground unconscious, what would you do?

Would you pick her up and wipe the blood from her beak?

Would you put her out of her misery?

Would you take her to the vet?

Would you put her in a warm box and look after her?

You would have to make some choices, wouldn’t you?

When my beautiful husband got so ill that I couldn’t look after him anymore,

I had to organize for him to move to a nursing home.

The blind, three-legged dog warms my husband’s feet every night.

The bird chirps outside my husband’s window every day.

Not really, because they don’t exist except in my imagination.

I didn’t have a choice.

Koopy’s note: Even though we have never known each other outside of WordPress, Koops found a bloggy friend in Jules. Her words give so many the hope to move on and face stuff like a badass.

We are only as young as our spirits, J! And come on. You know I love how you write.

She even has peacocks! And geese! And lots of birdie rivalry that she shares with us. She is a big bright beacon for anyone looking for some light in the life.

Look at that pretty pea! 😀
… Yeah. I have a hing for pretty peas. Sorry.

She’s fun and smart and caring and funny and an awesome writer. Hop over, yes the rumors are true: right here!

Brains are Dead

A two in one face compact and an eyeliner in hand, a sense of accomplishment overcame me, washed down with a pint of guilt.

… Although I’d still say it was a steal.

As i waited in line at the mart for my turn, something interesting happened. The salesgirl requested the woman who was then getting her bill computed to let me in since i have less than 5 items. The explosion of words in Odia that followed made it pretty clear she wasn’t ready to give up her position to some random 18 year old chick with makeup and liquid soap in hand: she was at the pinnacle, with her two baskets and an assorted array of debit and credit cards snug inside her olive green (hopefully fake) leather wallet.

Courtesy The Raging Yoghurt

And then i wondered why. Meanwhile, the salesgirl came up to me and explained the situation in Hindi. She apologised for me having to wait in line for barely much of a shopping list per se.
I flashed my pearlies (as good as new!
Not.) and she went back to her mundane job of showing people ‘the latest trends in makeup’, flourishing samples of eyeshadows and lipcolors and the latest range of chic nail colors with an ease only frustrated familiarity with shelves lined up with that stuff can bring.
My antennae tingled, swaying ever so softly in the air; in business, customer experience is top of priority: you’re the king.

But standing in line at the mart i realised, increasingly refined customer experiences are turning us into bitches.

  • People have lots of capital, so everyone’s a superhero (purchasing power, on second thoughts. National and world economies aren’t all that flowery, but life revvs on for those who believe in the secret power of Credit.)
  • More money means more services.
  • You’ve gotta be kidding me if you still live in the 80’s. Companies dream of a big fat stock market price (boo Facebook) and a loyal fan base. Sort of like minions. Anyone has one eye like that guy in the middle? If you’re reading this, you better know I really like yoo!

    I likes yoo.

  • Honestly, I wasn’t expecting the bullets either.

I like to think of all of us as the king who wore no clothes.

Everyone wants the best and on demand; with way too many choices at hand, spoilt for choice is a sheer understatement. We have a gazillion food joints competing with each other’s necks and rib cages, heck, even newspapers!

You have clothing brands and diapers and soft drinks and home supplies and real estate (depending on the  the number of homes you can fit under your belt) and toilet paper… Whew. You’re bombarded by so many things all the time, is it any wonder you scream at a pretty 18 year old teen with makeup in arms?

Not cool.

In other news, Barry Schwartz remains amongst my favorite speakers on TED. Yay!