Remember how up until very recently everybody and their mother were advocating that emotions have no place at the office? I have always thought this was wrong for a very simple reason: whether we like to admit it or not, us human beings, both male and female, are a bundle of emotions all the time. And if we try to suppress our emotions, the most we could achieve is to escalate them even more. We can’t just wave them off. However, if we acknowledge them we can continue about our regular busy days.

A couple of days ago, I was at a Management skills training and I was happy to find out that the newest theories are along the same line – get your emotions out in the open. Naturally, we turned it all into a joke and since the training we walk around the office asking everyone How are you feeling? which annoys the hell out of the colleagues who weren’t at the training …

I was quite surprised when one of the trainers told us to analyse our reactions more carefully and that the emotions that other people’s actions provoke in us have nothing to do with those people or their actions. They are only related to our needs and the way we feel at the moment. At first we were all like … WTF? Of course we jumped at her immediately and started arguing with this absurd statement until she illustrated it with the following example:

Scenario A) I am a really busy person. My day is meeting after meeting after meeting. I value punctuality and it is very important for me that others respect my time and schedule. One day, my 12 o’clock calls to say s/he is 15 minutes late. This pisses me of big time, because it will screw up my entire schedule for the afternoon.

Scenario B) I am a really busy person. My day is meeting after meeting after meeting. I value punctuality and it is very important for me that others respect my time and schedule. Although fun, it does get very tiring and sometimes I am dying to have a 15-minute break from this madness. One day, my 12 o’clock calls to say s/he is 15 minutes late. And I think to myself: THANK GOD!

I never thought about this but I found it pretty cool. And pretty damn true.

Учим маркетинг § управление на търговската марка, правим си семинари и innovation форуми, каним всеизвестни личности да ни изнасят лекции как да правим повече и повече пари, ама май яко ни убягва, че още си живеем в добрия стар народен соц контекст …

Отиваме вчера с Веско да си резервираме морето – тази година си избрахме Албена. Добри души ни посъветваха да отидем в бюрото на място, щото през нета и по телефона ставали гафове. Мдам. Бяхме, разбира се, проверили работното време предварително – в събота до 4. До тук добре. Цъфваме там в 2:30 (в най-горещото време на най-горещия за годината ден, което отвсякъде си показва колко сме се посветили на идеята “Албена” (освен колко сме несъобразителни)). Ефектът беше от рода на “чукам, влизам – гледам: заключено”. Пуснати кепенците, няма светлинка и най-важното: няма жив човек в офиса. Ние обаче сме а) упорити и б) подготвени, пък и в) нямаме друго удобно време, в което да направим резервацията – с две думи: записали сме си и мобилните телефони, дадени на сайта (където, апропо стои обещаващият надпис “Ваканция мечта” … Ще видим). Та, звъним на мобилен номер 1. Ще ви учудя: никой не вдига. Пробваме втория и чудо! – отвътре през сумрака върви леко летаргична лелка (тук исках да сложа линк към Wiki статия за феномена “лелка” – все още няма такава, но някой определено трябва да спастри една! Веско?), въоръжена с ключ. Отключва ни и почва да мрънка, че се е затворила нарочно, щото си има работа. Ама … Ама … Чакай … твоята работа Е работа с клиенти. Решавам, че няма нужда … важното е да спечелиш не битката, а войната, пък аз си искам резервацията.

Казвам си това ще го преживея, но наистина автентично се изненадвам като ни посочват два стола и ни казват Седнете там и чакайте, че имам спешни отчети да правя. Whaaaaaat? Really???? За нейн късмет, сме недоспали и махмурлии, та, макар че съм вече бясна, решавам, че няма да й се карам и да й обяснявам как се обслужват клиенти. ТРИДЕСЕТ минути по-късно О! късмет! Обръщат ни внимание!!

Такааам. Причината, по която сме там е, че на място “ти предлагат различни варианти и оферти”. My ass. Вместо това с досада ме питат точно в кой хотел на каква формула искам да отседна. И това го преживявам, макар че почвам да се питам що аджеба съм там, като всичко това можех да си направя и по телефона/през сайта. И точно успявам да си кажа желанието и на лелката й звъни мобилният телефон. И тя го вдига … отпуска се на стола си и почва сладко лафче! Дааа, да, бе, на работа съм. Че и клиенти имам! Тъкмо днес си мислех да затворя по-рано, че и час за кола маска си записах (ще ви спестя къде щеше да си прави процедури, ма ние с Веско и това чухме) пък ми дойдоха клиенти. Да, да – пробвах я рецептата, ма нещо на децата май не им хареса. Уф, айде, че нали ти казах все пак – клиенти имам. (Мдааа, ти си направо еталон за обслужване!)

Имах няколко въпроса, зададох си ги и изпаднах в ситуация на неловко мълчание. Минутки по-късно тя се обърна учудено към мен и ме пита Ма вие на мен ли нещо говорите?

След още един телефонен разговор и няколко обяснения от моя страна какво всъщност предлагат (щото аз си бях прочела на сайта и очевидно я учудих с част от информацията), все пак успяхме да стигнем до заветната резервация.

Ваканция мечта, викате начи? Ако обслужването в Софийския им офис е някакъв вид preview на това, което ни чака там … ще трябва да поясняваме за чия мечта става дума.

1) About 8-10% of the world population is gay. 10% comes down to one in ten. Think of how many people you know and do the math … Some (many?) gay people force themselves to live not-so-happy straight lives because they don’t have the strength to fight homophobia (which often results in violence and if not – then in hate speech) and discrimination. In this society we live in, I can’t blame them…

2) For the past couple of years there have been campaigns against homophobia around May 17th. Two of my favorite campaigns are Be careful who you hate – it might be someone you love and Homosexuality is not a choice. Homophobia is.

3) A letter Mrs. Sharon Underwood (who has a gay son) wrote to the Valley News (White River Junction, VT) in 2000:

I am the mother of a gay son and I’ve taken enough from you good people.

I’m tired of your foolish rhetoric about the “homosexual agenda” and your allegations that accepting homosexuality is the same thing as advocating sex with children. You are cruel and ignorant. You have been robbing me of the joys of motherhood ever since my children were tiny. My firstborn son started suffering at the hands of the moral little thugs from your moral, upright families from the time he was in the first grade. He was physically and verbally abused from first grade straight through high school because he was perceived to be gay. He never professed to be gay or had any association with anything gay, but he had the misfortune not to walk or have gestures like the other boys. He was called “fag” incessantly, starting when he was 6.

In high school, while your children were doing what kids that age should be doing, mine labored over a suicide note, drafting and redrafting it to be sure his family knew how much he loved them. My sobbing 17-year-old tore the heart out of me as he choked out that he just couldn’t bear to continue living any longer, that he didn’t want to be gay and that he couldn’t face a life without dignity.

You have the audacity to talk about protecting families and children from the homosexual menace, while you yourselves tear apart families and drive children to despair. I don’t know why my son is gay, but I do know that God didn’t put him, and millions like him, on this Earth to give you someone to abuse. God gave you brains so that you could think, and it’s about time you started doing that.

At the core of all your misguided beliefs is the belief that this could never happen to you, that there is some kind of subculture out there that people have chosen to join. The fact is that if it can happen to my family, it can happen to yours, and you won’t get to choose. Whether it is genetic or whether something occurs during a critical time of fetal development, I don’t know. I can only tell you with an absolute certainty that it is inborn.

If you want to tout your own morality, you’d best come up with something more substantive than your heterosexuality. You did nothing to earn it; it was given to you. If you disagree, I would be interested in hearing your story, because my own heterosexuality was a blessing I received with no effort whatsoever on my part. It is so woven into the very soul of me that nothing could ever change it. For those of you who reduce sexual orientation to a simple choice, a character issue, a bad habit or something that can be changed by a 10-step program, I’m puzzled. Are you saying that your own sexual orientation is nothing more than something you have chosen, that you could change it at will? If that’s not the case, then why would you suggest that someone else can?

A popular theme in your letters is that Vermont has been infiltrated by outsiders. Both sides of my family have lived in Vermont for generations. I am heart and soul a Vermonter, so I’ll thank you to stop saying that you are speaking for “true Vermonters.”

You invoke the memory of the brave people who have fought on the battlefield for this great country, saying that they didn’t give their lives so that the “homosexual agenda” could tear down the principles they died defending. My 83-year-old father fought in some of the most horrific battles of World War II, was wounded and awarded the Purple Heart.

He shakes his head in sadness at the life his grandson has had to live. He says he fought alongside homosexuals in those battles, that they did their part and bothered no one. One of his best friends in the service was gay, and he never knew it until the end, and when he did find out, it mattered not at all. That wasn’t the measure of the man.

You religious folk just can’t bear the thought that as my son emerges from the hell that was his childhood he might like to find a lifelong companion and have a measure of happiness. It offends your sensibilities that he should request the right to visit that companion in the hospital, to make medical decisions for him or to benefit from tax laws governing inheritance. How dare he? you say. These outrageous requests would threaten the very existence of your family, would undermine the sanctity of marriage.

You use religion to abdicate your responsibility to be thinking human beings. There are vast numbers of religious people who find your attitudes repugnant. God is not for the privileged majority, and God knows my son has committed no sin. The deep-thinking author of a letter to the April 12 Valley News who lectures about homosexual sin and tells us about “those of us who have been blessed with the benefits of a religious upbringing” asks: “What ever happened to the idea of striving … to be better human beings than we are?”

Indeed, sir, what ever happened to that?

Sharon Underwood.

One Easter, a British photojournalist was there to cover the event and she was standing right next to Maria and me. The priest was really something – he looked like Santa Claus on Prozac. He was walking around, thrusting the incense burner at people, saying Christ has risen. At one point he saw the photojournalist who was taking pictures in a very serious manner, thrust the incense burner in her direction and said Uluibaite (which in Russian means “smile”.)

Her jaw DROPPED.

Maria and I, seeing how truly shocked she was asked her why she reacted like that. She looked at us in dismay and asked Did HE just say, “I want to bite you????”

Happy Easter to all!

This goes out to you, who when you saw me wearing skirts,  told me to stop being so girly and put on a pair of shorts.

This goes out to you, who taught me how to “drive” a horse carriage.

This goes out to you, who used to throw a watermelon to the ground, thus break it into pieces and offer me a delicious snack in the middle of day.

This goes out t you, who found the strength to watch me fall from the trees I was climbing, so I can learn a lesson. And then soothed me and told me that A hero without a wound is not a hero.

This goes out to you, who with a loving smile told everybody who would listen how I didn’t leave the house through the front door, but rather jumped over the fence.

This goes out to you, who told me that – yes! – our car could indeed fly and spent endless hours looking with me for its wings in your backyard.

This goes out to you, who every time when you saw me, pushed everyone aside and gave me a hug and cried with happiness.

This goes out to you, who every summer, before I came over, bought a goat, so I can have fresh milk in the morning. And then every summer got really upset that I hated goat milk and sold the goat.

This goes out to you, who understood how important it was to me to build a wooden house, and left the work you had to help me find the proper wood for it.

This goes out to you, who got up after massive heart attacks to work your garden, so that we have “quality” fruit and vegetables to eat.

This goes out to you, who gave me a very small glass of beer with a lot of foam at lunch since I was 4 – because with a little beer the hot summer lunches were more enjoyable.

This goes out to you, who told me not to quit smoking, but to smoke a little bit – like you: 3 cigarettes a day, one after each meal, but oh-so-enjoyable!

This goes out to you, who believed in education so much and who promised me anything I wanted if I aced math. And who didn’t complain when I asked for new furniture for my entire room.

This goes out to you, who had happy dreams of swimming, just because I could swim and that made you so happy.

This goes out to your big heart. This goes out to you, who loved me most of all, for I loved you and I will always love you back.

This goes out to you, Grandpa. Rest in peace!

My granny has achieved a lot in her life; I didn’t do too badly with Monika’s Musings – not as much as I had vouched for, but an average of a post per week is not too bad, eh.

I wish them both many, many great years to come!

Thanks for tuning in.

However, one thing really annoyed me recently and I cannot help but share it. We started talking with my officemate Peter about how he is really impressed that most of the upper management in my company in Bulgaria are women. The conversation evolved into the topic of how women are treated in different companies/cultures.

Turns out that in Hungary (as a general rule, with the exception of some truly international companies) there is an intriguing particularity about how people address each other. Hungarian, unlike English has a formal and informal way of addressing people (much like the ти and вие in Bulgarian, the du and Sie in German, the tu and vous in French … you get the drift). The formal one is usually used to address people who are higher in the hierarchy than you, older, people you don’t know or people of a generally higher status than yourself. Bottom line: the formal way of addressing someone invokes respect.

The funny thing here is that men (regardless of their age or position at the company) can address other men (again regardless of position or age) with the informal tu-form. Women can address other women with the same form as well. But get this: women should address men of a higher position with the formal vous-form. Men, of course, can address all women using the informal form.

Later on, I had lunch with another colleague, an elder woman. I still could not believe this, so I asked her if it were true (I though I might have misunderstood). She exclaimed But of course! I pointed out that this sounds quite sexist and she replied it was politeness, not sexism.

Wait a second! So if men address other men in the tu-form, it is not considered impolite, but suddenly it becomes an issue of politeness if women should address men in the same form? I asked. She raised her shoulders and said I guess you simply don’t understand it. It is cultural. It has always been like that.

Aaaaah, my favorite argument: we’ve always done it. Since when did we loose our critical thinking ability? How is it possible to evolve if we do things like they have always been done? And cultural? Really? I’m sorry, No! Culture does not justify sexism.

Since the formal way of addressing someone invokes respect for that person, this habit basically means that women owe more respect to men than men to women. And that, if you ask me, is sexism.

See, I love, love, love Christmas. And every year I want to get my loved ones something that they would reaaaaaally like. So come October, I start fretting about it – and I usually don’t do much (but fret) by December 20th …

He looked at me with childish bewilderment and said But it’s really easy for you. You’re in Hungary now – so you can get everyone a salami roll and some Balaton wine.

Right. Though I can totally picture myself handing out salami with a joyful Merry Christmas cheer, that conversation still did not do much to relieve me from the gift-shopping stress. But it did get me thinking…

Petya is asking for Bulgarian-related gift ideas (if you have any, that are subtle, yet charmingly Bulgarian, drop her a line). I guess I am just asking – how much importance do you place on your Christmas gifts?

I am happy to join a blogging meme Petya invited me to which reminds me of Phoebe. Here are 6 little things that make me really happy:

1. Pink

I spent the most part of my life with an aversion to pink. I even remember one day my friend Mirela called me, shocked, and said Mon, Hanka just spent 500 euros on PINK! I nearly gagged though I had to admit pink looks awesome on Hanka. Anyway, some three years ago, overnight, pink turned from my lifetime aversion to a borderline obsession. I can’t help but smile every time I am confronted with it (and that includes total strangers on the street wearing pink). Three out of four of my favorite gadgets are pink/have pink on them

2. My two favorite bookmarks

I read all the time. When I was a kid I used to spend all my summers with my grandparents in a tiny Bulgarian village. And the fact that I constantly read – literally while walking on the street and eating – used to piss them off. In a good loving way.  Years later, I am still like that; there is always a book within arm-reach. And the two things that make reading even more enjoyable are my two favorite bookmarks – both a gift from very dear friends.

3. Bartending

As a Bulgarian student in Paris I had to take what little jobs were available to secure some extra cash. Teaching English, babysitting, the likes. My favorite job of all was bartending. I used to work at school parties, at receptions, illegally at British pubs. There’s nothing like having a tired client walk in the pub at the end of the day, wishing to have his/her favorite drink. And you make it perfect. And you watch them enjoy every single sip of it. Pure bliss.

4. My bed cover.

It was love at first sight. I saw it in a store and immediately planned the design of my room all around it. The colors make me smile every day.

5. First days of spring

What gives me a blast is watching how people dress. At a traffic light you will have the impatient ones in tank tops waiting to cross the street next to someone who is still in their winter coat.

6. Staying up really late on Fridays.

One thing I am definitely not is a morning person. I have the wost time waking up every single day. But one thing that makes me really happy is staying up ridiculously late on Friday nights. No matter how tired I am, I’d keep myself awake – watching TV series or reading a book – just because I can and there won’t be an alarm clock the following day.

Technically now I should tag 6 people to participate. Since I am doing this a month late and most people have done it already, I am going to tag only three: Andreas (cause he needs urging to write more), Elissaveta (cause I am sure she will have a really hard time narrowing her choice down to 6 things and I am curious) and Toni whom I don’t know personally, but whose writing I always enjoy.

To the he rest of you: please make my day by telling me which 6 little things make your day here in the comments’ section.

If you haven’t seen it already, take a peek. It’s definitely worth 20 minutes of your lives, even if it is just for the laughs.