Everyone is an expert if marketed well. I once erroneously hired a speaker for a mentoring event based on someone's recommendation. The man was paid $100 and was supposed to talk for one hour about networking. He showed up looking like an old pimp (complete with True Religion jeans, a fedora, lots of jewelry: he's in his 60s) and talked about how because he accosts people in coffee shops and "makes friends" he gets all sorts of bonuses. For instance, one time drinking wine he met someone (read: cornered) who has a vacation home in Brazil so he once got to stay in Brazil for free. I thought I was getting a presentation about how to network and received a presentation about how to exploit people....but I digress.
As a company we have a rich and proud tradition of terrible presentations. Several years ago, when I first started working at my current place of business, a member of the HR team gave a presentation at a department meeting on the generations in the workplace. I have no earthly idea where she got the information she presented about Millenials (those just entering the workforce, born from approximately 1980-now...i.e. me and all my stupid friends) but it was outrageous. I still get a little cranky just thinking about it. Please see the following for a selection of some "hot topics" and "need-to-know" data presented about Millenials:
1. They refuse to do the "what" before they know the "why"
2. They question everything
3. Examples of questions they might ask: Why should I listen to you? Why should I tell the truth, obey the rules, and do what I'm told?
4. Difficult to understand and even harder to manage and motivate
5. Difficult to instill solid work ethic
6. A listing of their characteristics: impatient, desensitized, disengaged, skeptical, disrespectful, bluntly expressive
I don't think I need to keep going...
There was another presentation about the generations in the workforce that happened around this time as well that focused on how "they" believe in teamwork and think everyone should get a trophy, just like on their little league teams. This presenter blamed the parents, i.e. himself and others in his generation, for telling Millenials they are special.
But can't you think of people of all ages that are lazy or question authority? Why is everyone picking on us?
OH, it's because everyone blows smoke up our asses. I got a flavor of this today when I received a copy of my performance review for the previous job I was doing here. It literally read like God had allowed an angel to fall from the sky and land right into the position of administrative assistant. The halo effect was in full swing. Now, I think I'm a hard worker and I think I do try more than some but I am not under any illusions that I'm amazing. I was honestly a little offended by the review mostly on the principle that a review is a time to check in on what's going well and what could be improved. I walked away from that review with the same thing I've walked away with from the last four years of reviews: collectively nothing.
I have no idea what I could do to improve, I have no path for development, I have no clear idea of how I can bridge the gap from my current position to one of a supervisory role. I. Have. Nothing. Nothing except for the biggest case of smoke being blown up my ass in the history of the world.
Which, admittedly, is fine. There's no money attached to it, it won't affect my current job, my old boss gets the satisfaction of being done with a review and I get to forge ahead in my fandangled youth, bluntly expressing my wayward feelings all the while surfing the internet as much as I can get away with and unabashedly flaunting my impatience with authority. So really, win-win.
Signed,
The Most Awesome Employee Ever to Exist in the History of the World
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Monday, December 27, 2010
Shopping cart confusion
After regaling a few coworkers with the following story, I decided to post my Christmas lunacy for all. Two of those who heard this actually said: "Wow, Jessica's family makes me feel normal!"
On Christmas Eve, Todd and I headed out to the desert to visit my grandparents, my great-grandma, my parents, brother (and his girlfriend), aunt (and her boyfriend) and cousins. It was a full house. We pulled up in my little hatchback and popped the hatch to remove our gifts. My grandpa and dad were in the garage so they joined us at the curb and asked if they could assist in transporting the merriment we'd brought. My grandpa then asked: "Why do you have a stroller in the car?!?" After explaining that it was not a stroller and was instead a shopping cart for browsing flea markets and farmers' markets, I thought the issue was resolved...
...moments later we enter the house, hugs and kisses and joy abound and then grandpa exclaims: "JESS AND TODD HAVE A STROLLER IN THE CAR!!!!!" I sigh, take a breath, and explain: "As I just explained to Papa outside, it is a SHOPPING CART. There are no babies! Do you see any babies to put in a stroller?!"
His response:
"I don't know what you've got in there! (referring, I assume, to my uterus) When's the last time you two did it???"
Let's recap who's in the room: my mom, my dad, my 88-yr-old great-grandmother, my grandma, my 12-yr-old cousin and my 14-yr-old cousin. In other words, the perfect crowd for speculation about my sex life. I think I just said "Merry Christmas" really loudly and everyone laughed.
Later, after my brother arrived, he got the end of one of Papa's jokes after opening an Axe Body Spray kit he'd received as a gift. Now, one thing you have to understand about my brother is that he doesn't take cologne lightly. You either go big or go home and that kid takes the Jersey Shore approach. So my grandma, knowing his tricks, asked "Did you spray that stuff in the house!??" To which grandpa replied....
"YOU START SPRAYING IN THE HOUSE AND WE'LL HAVE YOU NEUTERED!"
Funny on many levels including the one where his girlfriend works at a veterinary office.
Someone else asked if Christmas was good and it really was. No one got hurt, no one was in the hospital, no one was sick, and no one cried. That, my friends, is a very Merry Christmas!
On Christmas Eve, Todd and I headed out to the desert to visit my grandparents, my great-grandma, my parents, brother (and his girlfriend), aunt (and her boyfriend) and cousins. It was a full house. We pulled up in my little hatchback and popped the hatch to remove our gifts. My grandpa and dad were in the garage so they joined us at the curb and asked if they could assist in transporting the merriment we'd brought. My grandpa then asked: "Why do you have a stroller in the car?!?" After explaining that it was not a stroller and was instead a shopping cart for browsing flea markets and farmers' markets, I thought the issue was resolved...
...moments later we enter the house, hugs and kisses and joy abound and then grandpa exclaims: "JESS AND TODD HAVE A STROLLER IN THE CAR!!!!!" I sigh, take a breath, and explain: "As I just explained to Papa outside, it is a SHOPPING CART. There are no babies! Do you see any babies to put in a stroller?!"
His response:
"I don't know what you've got in there! (referring, I assume, to my uterus) When's the last time you two did it???"
Let's recap who's in the room: my mom, my dad, my 88-yr-old great-grandmother, my grandma, my 12-yr-old cousin and my 14-yr-old cousin. In other words, the perfect crowd for speculation about my sex life. I think I just said "Merry Christmas" really loudly and everyone laughed.
Later, after my brother arrived, he got the end of one of Papa's jokes after opening an Axe Body Spray kit he'd received as a gift. Now, one thing you have to understand about my brother is that he doesn't take cologne lightly. You either go big or go home and that kid takes the Jersey Shore approach. So my grandma, knowing his tricks, asked "Did you spray that stuff in the house!??" To which grandpa replied....
"YOU START SPRAYING IN THE HOUSE AND WE'LL HAVE YOU NEUTERED!"
Funny on many levels including the one where his girlfriend works at a veterinary office.
Someone else asked if Christmas was good and it really was. No one got hurt, no one was in the hospital, no one was sick, and no one cried. That, my friends, is a very Merry Christmas!
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Worst coach ever
I wish I had proper insight into why people feel like they can make assessments of my physical body but I am really at a loss. Let me start this by telling people I spend literally no time at work telling people how sad I am about gaining weight or talking about my exercise regimine, that's for blogs and deep conversations with my mom. Nor do I spend time limping or looking ill or eating large amounts of pie or cake because the following will have more of an impact if that's clear.
This morning I was talking to a coworker who said to me, literally out of nowhere, "next year, we're both going to get in shape!" It was said out of love, with so much glee, but she could see my face. I said "I'm sorry but please do not set goals for me - I had to make a concious decision about my priorities and that isn't one of them". I was REALLY proud of myself. I'd asserted myself and stood up for myself and let her know that wasn't ok and she was surprisingly really grateful for it. She told me that she doesn't see me as overweight (hah, nice save) and that she appreciated my honesty, declaring that's what friendship is: the truth.
I just keep thinking, there are so many more fat, fucked up people than just me here, why me?
I'm having one of those moments when you were young and your parent did something and you think (or, if you're a spicy little pistol, you scream) 'I'm never going to treat my kids that way!'
I want to be the person who builds people up and tells them the truth when they ask me for it. Though I've also learned that's taxing and I've decided to take up a collection. So, if you want the truth, you owe me a dollar and if you want an hour of therapy, it's $50. Be prepared to see me driving around in a Lexus by next Christmas because, as it turns out, people have a lot they want to tell me.
This morning I was talking to a coworker who said to me, literally out of nowhere, "next year, we're both going to get in shape!" It was said out of love, with so much glee, but she could see my face. I said "I'm sorry but please do not set goals for me - I had to make a concious decision about my priorities and that isn't one of them". I was REALLY proud of myself. I'd asserted myself and stood up for myself and let her know that wasn't ok and she was surprisingly really grateful for it. She told me that she doesn't see me as overweight (hah, nice save) and that she appreciated my honesty, declaring that's what friendship is: the truth.
I just keep thinking, there are so many more fat, fucked up people than just me here, why me?
I'm having one of those moments when you were young and your parent did something and you think (or, if you're a spicy little pistol, you scream) 'I'm never going to treat my kids that way!'
I want to be the person who builds people up and tells them the truth when they ask me for it. Though I've also learned that's taxing and I've decided to take up a collection. So, if you want the truth, you owe me a dollar and if you want an hour of therapy, it's $50. Be prepared to see me driving around in a Lexus by next Christmas because, as it turns out, people have a lot they want to tell me.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Near misses
I often think about the small margin on either side of an event where it may or may not have happened just as it did. I refer to it often, usually when I say something without thinking like "well, that could have been worse!" But I've been thinking about it a lot lately as things just sort of fall into place in all parts of my life.
I met my best friend Nicole when my family moved south and I went to public school in 8th grade. She was a little older (by 51 weeks and I'll never let her forget!), a little cooler (older brother in a band) and we never really got to know each other until a biology class in college. It was my first HUGE lecture hall class and I said hello to her but when she asked to sit near me, I told her I was saving seats for two other friends...friends who came to mean absolutely nothing to me. I'm glad she decided to give it another shot, after I so rudely rejected her, and become my lab partner. She's my sister and I can't imagine not having her in my life.
I was living on campus when Todd and I first started dating and if you've ever been to UCI, you've been lost at UCI. It's a campus built on oddly-shaped concentric circles and then built out at random intervals. If you see it from the sky, it just looks like a mess. Anyway, he came to pick me up on our first date and couldn't find my apartment, and, after about a half hour, he tells me he almost gave up. I'm glad he parked. That was almost 6 years ago - December 28, 2004 was our first date.
After college, I was working at a local nonprofit and not making enough money to pay my bills. I was living off credit cards and praying my students loans would disappear. A friend from the radio station I worked at called me and asked if I'd like to apply at her work - more money, better benefits, etc. I interviewed and was denied; HR told me I was not selected. I was sort of devastated but decided to keep looking. Two weeks later they called to tell me the other candidate turned it down and that I was selected after all. That was 4 years ago and I've now been promoted twice.
And then last week I ran into a former coworker in my old department and we talked a bit about what was going on in our lives. She told me she was looking to upgrade from her condo to a house closer to her kids and was regretful as she would likely lose money, having bought it at the top of the market. I suggested to her that she rent it out but she thought that sounded like more trouble than it's worth and what if the renters are nuts etc....until I asked about maybe Todd and I renting it. The space is larger and less expensive than our old place (300+ more square feet, $300 less each month) and the timeline works for her. She can have reliable renters who can keep her place nice, save money for their own house, and she can wait out the market to gain back the equity she lost in the downturn. So, we're going to draft an agreement after the first of the year and we'll move in sometime in May.
Maybe, as Eugenia's mom would say, someone really is always watching.
I met my best friend Nicole when my family moved south and I went to public school in 8th grade. She was a little older (by 51 weeks and I'll never let her forget!), a little cooler (older brother in a band) and we never really got to know each other until a biology class in college. It was my first HUGE lecture hall class and I said hello to her but when she asked to sit near me, I told her I was saving seats for two other friends...friends who came to mean absolutely nothing to me. I'm glad she decided to give it another shot, after I so rudely rejected her, and become my lab partner. She's my sister and I can't imagine not having her in my life.
I was living on campus when Todd and I first started dating and if you've ever been to UCI, you've been lost at UCI. It's a campus built on oddly-shaped concentric circles and then built out at random intervals. If you see it from the sky, it just looks like a mess. Anyway, he came to pick me up on our first date and couldn't find my apartment, and, after about a half hour, he tells me he almost gave up. I'm glad he parked. That was almost 6 years ago - December 28, 2004 was our first date.
After college, I was working at a local nonprofit and not making enough money to pay my bills. I was living off credit cards and praying my students loans would disappear. A friend from the radio station I worked at called me and asked if I'd like to apply at her work - more money, better benefits, etc. I interviewed and was denied; HR told me I was not selected. I was sort of devastated but decided to keep looking. Two weeks later they called to tell me the other candidate turned it down and that I was selected after all. That was 4 years ago and I've now been promoted twice.
And then last week I ran into a former coworker in my old department and we talked a bit about what was going on in our lives. She told me she was looking to upgrade from her condo to a house closer to her kids and was regretful as she would likely lose money, having bought it at the top of the market. I suggested to her that she rent it out but she thought that sounded like more trouble than it's worth and what if the renters are nuts etc....until I asked about maybe Todd and I renting it. The space is larger and less expensive than our old place (300+ more square feet, $300 less each month) and the timeline works for her. She can have reliable renters who can keep her place nice, save money for their own house, and she can wait out the market to gain back the equity she lost in the downturn. So, we're going to draft an agreement after the first of the year and we'll move in sometime in May.
Maybe, as Eugenia's mom would say, someone really is always watching.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Hermit the Frog
Well, finals are over. I'll find my grades out on January 3rd and, despite my typical overwhelming impatience, I'm just glad not to have to think about anything. My head hurts today which I'm guessing is from squeezing every drop of human resources management out of it last night but other than that, I made it through my first semester of grad school and only missed one class. Considering what a DITCHER I was in high school and college, I'd say that's a feat.
Today I'd like to discuss white elephant and secret santa gift exchanges. First, white elephant. Now, I live in 777sq ft of mess with another human and two cats...there is just not a lot of room to store gifts I don't like. And people who know me don't give us crappy gifts! One time a friend lovingly offered a cd tower which we drove to her house to see, loaded it in the car, looked at one another, and drove straight to Goodwill. Since there's not a lot of storage in the house, there's also not a lot in the garage. Well, technically, there is plenty of room in the garage but we're not allowed to store much there - Todd's man cave rule. It is a shrine to all things car and the only items we're really allowed to put there are the piano we couldn't convince movers to move up 3 flights of stairs and bikes.
But I digress!
Why would anyone want to participate in a gift exchange where you will fight to get a marginal present? Doesn't everyone understand you're excited about something that one of your friends or coworkers thought was crappy? When someone brings an ugly pillow that their mother-in-law gave them and you "oooh" and "ahhhh" over it, THEY ARE JUDGING YOU. They immediately decide you are a peasant. Some crazy old lady actually got excited over this hideous angel that my boss brought that was painted gold and white and had fiber optics coming off the wings with several LED lights, in all colors, throughout the angel's dress: It. Was. Hideous. I decided, since I'm punk rock, to steal the Mystical Creations vampire skull LED waterfountain. Nothing says relaxation like water spewing out of a vampire skull! Of course, Todd loved it and now everyone in my department thinks I worship satan: a true win-win.
For secret santa, it only works if everyone in the group knows each other well. Otherwise, I draw the name of a man in my department I know the following about:
1. He's Asian
2. His name
3. Where he sits
4. That he has too many pagers
5. That he chews like a horse when he's eating
That is LITERALLY all I know about him. Once he asked me why I was eating dinner at 5pm and I told him I'm in school. That is LITERALLY all the social interaction we've had.
I feel cheesy about it but I bought a cute box from Target and filled it with tea. Worst case scenario he can use it as a white elephant next year!
Today I'd like to discuss white elephant and secret santa gift exchanges. First, white elephant. Now, I live in 777sq ft of mess with another human and two cats...there is just not a lot of room to store gifts I don't like. And people who know me don't give us crappy gifts! One time a friend lovingly offered a cd tower which we drove to her house to see, loaded it in the car, looked at one another, and drove straight to Goodwill. Since there's not a lot of storage in the house, there's also not a lot in the garage. Well, technically, there is plenty of room in the garage but we're not allowed to store much there - Todd's man cave rule. It is a shrine to all things car and the only items we're really allowed to put there are the piano we couldn't convince movers to move up 3 flights of stairs and bikes.
But I digress!
Why would anyone want to participate in a gift exchange where you will fight to get a marginal present? Doesn't everyone understand you're excited about something that one of your friends or coworkers thought was crappy? When someone brings an ugly pillow that their mother-in-law gave them and you "oooh" and "ahhhh" over it, THEY ARE JUDGING YOU. They immediately decide you are a peasant. Some crazy old lady actually got excited over this hideous angel that my boss brought that was painted gold and white and had fiber optics coming off the wings with several LED lights, in all colors, throughout the angel's dress: It. Was. Hideous. I decided, since I'm punk rock, to steal the Mystical Creations vampire skull LED waterfountain. Nothing says relaxation like water spewing out of a vampire skull! Of course, Todd loved it and now everyone in my department thinks I worship satan: a true win-win.
For secret santa, it only works if everyone in the group knows each other well. Otherwise, I draw the name of a man in my department I know the following about:
1. He's Asian
2. His name
3. Where he sits
4. That he has too many pagers
5. That he chews like a horse when he's eating
That is LITERALLY all I know about him. Once he asked me why I was eating dinner at 5pm and I told him I'm in school. That is LITERALLY all the social interaction we've had.
I feel cheesy about it but I bought a cute box from Target and filled it with tea. Worst case scenario he can use it as a white elephant next year!
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Goodbye Pyrex!
I took some dip to a friend's Halloween party and, from what I can discern, I'm never seeing my container again.
Please see below - a dear john letter from my pyrex dish:
Dear Jessica (aka my adoptive mother.)
You may not remember me, but I remember you. I'm not sure of my name. Honestly, I don't think you ever formally named me. Perhaps my name is "Pyrex." Maybe "Small Glass Container." Or better yet "Small, Sturdy Glass Container with Rubbermaid Plastic Lid with Flaps that Lock Into Place."
Hopefully, you remember me.
I probably should have written sooner. No doubt you've been worried sick over me. The last time we were together, I was doing my chore. And I did it well, I might add. To earn my keep - namely, a warm place in your cupboard - I had to contain and keep fresh the delicious spinach dip you made for Jarret's Halloween Party. I hate to brag, but I believe I did my job well.
I know you didn't intend to abandon me at the party. Under normal situations, I might have been very upset, shattered to pieces if you will pardon the pun. But when the dip was gone and I had no more chores to perform, Jarret found me all alone in the "dish drying" section of his sink basin. Tired of using cheap plastic and chemical-laced containers for his dinner bowl, he decided to make good use of me. Case in point: several weeks ago, he prepared his vegan Thanksgiving dinner and used me to take the meal to his Aunt's in Los Angeles. When we arrived hours later, Jarret was thrilled to find that I performed my job to perfection. His dinner was fresh and delicious. Since then, he's allowed me to hold his dinner each and every night, and he always treats me with love and affection. He's no pervert (well, he is, just not with me,) but he's careful to bathe me thoroughly after each meal.
Honestly, I'm very happy with him, and I think he's happy with me.
So you see, this is why I haven't written sooner. I love you adoptive Mom, but I'm very happy living with Jarret and I think I would crack (no pun intended) under the pressure of having to return to you after having bonded so completely with Jarret.
Please don't be upset with me. You can still visit me any time you'd like. He may even prepare a meal specifically for me to hold that he'll share with you. But I have found pure happiness with Jarret, and I hope you'll let me stay with him. I've never understood the quote, "If you love a container, set it free" until now.
With everlasting love,
Glassy McPlastic-Top
Please see below - a dear john letter from my pyrex dish:
Dear Jessica (aka my adoptive mother.)
You may not remember me, but I remember you. I'm not sure of my name. Honestly, I don't think you ever formally named me. Perhaps my name is "Pyrex." Maybe "Small Glass Container." Or better yet "Small, Sturdy Glass Container with Rubbermaid Plastic Lid with Flaps that Lock Into Place."
Hopefully, you remember me.
I probably should have written sooner. No doubt you've been worried sick over me. The last time we were together, I was doing my chore. And I did it well, I might add. To earn my keep - namely, a warm place in your cupboard - I had to contain and keep fresh the delicious spinach dip you made for Jarret's Halloween Party. I hate to brag, but I believe I did my job well.
I know you didn't intend to abandon me at the party. Under normal situations, I might have been very upset, shattered to pieces if you will pardon the pun. But when the dip was gone and I had no more chores to perform, Jarret found me all alone in the "dish drying" section of his sink basin. Tired of using cheap plastic and chemical-laced containers for his dinner bowl, he decided to make good use of me. Case in point: several weeks ago, he prepared his vegan Thanksgiving dinner and used me to take the meal to his Aunt's in Los Angeles. When we arrived hours later, Jarret was thrilled to find that I performed my job to perfection. His dinner was fresh and delicious. Since then, he's allowed me to hold his dinner each and every night, and he always treats me with love and affection. He's no pervert (well, he is, just not with me,) but he's careful to bathe me thoroughly after each meal.
Honestly, I'm very happy with him, and I think he's happy with me.
So you see, this is why I haven't written sooner. I love you adoptive Mom, but I'm very happy living with Jarret and I think I would crack (no pun intended) under the pressure of having to return to you after having bonded so completely with Jarret.
Please don't be upset with me. You can still visit me any time you'd like. He may even prepare a meal specifically for me to hold that he'll share with you. But I have found pure happiness with Jarret, and I hope you'll let me stay with him. I've never understood the quote, "If you love a container, set it free" until now.
With everlasting love,
Glassy McPlastic-Top
Grateful for every one in my life
Memorial service set for literary journalism grad »
---
I can't imagine spending the holidays without the people I love. I did not know Jessica but I am so sorry for her family.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Tinkle Time
[READERS BEWARE: MENSTRATION AND BODILY FUNCTIONS DISCUSSED BELOW]
When you're a kid, milestones are fun: first bike without training wheels, first kiss, first trip without your parents. But as you move past 21, it all sort of melts away.
I remember the day I got my period. It was the first day of 6th grade, or at least near the beginning of the year, and I was peeing and my mom was drying her hair and I just said "oh shit." I never got in trouble for cursing because my mother was a realist and this was, in fact, just a bunch of shit.
I've only been grounded once in my life for coming home late from a dance at my boyfriend's school. I never called to tell my parents I would be late so hence, punishment. My boyfriend felt so badly that I got in trouble that he brought me his video game system (so he wouldn't be having fun without me) and baked my mom and dad a pecan pie, from scratch. There is a hilarious picture somewhere of me frowning with the pie.
All milestones from that period of time are looked back on with fondness.
But then one day, I grew up and coming back from an awkward lunch, peed myself. I'm not talking 'laughed too hard and a couple drops sneaked out'; I'm talking PEED MYSELF. This was in my old car for anyone who is panicing. I went to lunch with my at-the-time boyfriend's mom and proceeded to drink 4 iced teas. Boy, do I love a good iced tea and a great waitress. After pausing momentarily and checking in to see if I needed to pee, I decided not so much and went on my merry way. About halfway home, panic set in. I called my boyfriend - "I am so scared! I am about to pee! This is the part of Culver with only residental houses!" I told myself I could totally make it home. I hung up with the boyfriend and proceeded to pee. And, again, not just a little, like a river of pee. It soaked my pants, my seat, and it was so formidable that it actually soaked the back of my seat and my jacket. So much pee.
So I get home and it's the middle of the day and there are no roommates home. I sit in my car for a moment and then make a break for it. I tie a sweater around my waist, hold my books in front of me and beeline for the apartment. I make it all the way up the stairs and reach into my purse for the keys to unlock the door, with dry freedom just in front of me, and realize....my keys are missing. Where did they go? I just came from the damn car and had to have the keys to get home! OH, they're locked in the car.
Now I am sitting on my stoop, sobbing, soaked with urine. Lucikly I'd given the boyfriend an extra key and he rushed over (I can still see him explaining to his boss: "Uh, family emergency??") and he let me in. I ran to the shower and got in, fully clothed, while I sobbed and removed my piss-soaked clothes. WORST. DAY. EVER.
It took a long time to be able to laugh about that. After my shower I called AAA to open my car, praying they wouldn't notice the tinkle.
So, my next exciting milestone happened today. I was casually standing in line waiting for Kogi to arrive and drown me in Korean tofu deliciousness an all the sudden my friend exclaimed:
"MISS JESSICA! You have gray hair - and not just one - a WHOLE LOT!"
Great....another exciting opportunity in growing up. And just one month shy of my 27th birthday.
When you're a kid, milestones are fun: first bike without training wheels, first kiss, first trip without your parents. But as you move past 21, it all sort of melts away.
I remember the day I got my period. It was the first day of 6th grade, or at least near the beginning of the year, and I was peeing and my mom was drying her hair and I just said "oh shit." I never got in trouble for cursing because my mother was a realist and this was, in fact, just a bunch of shit.
I've only been grounded once in my life for coming home late from a dance at my boyfriend's school. I never called to tell my parents I would be late so hence, punishment. My boyfriend felt so badly that I got in trouble that he brought me his video game system (so he wouldn't be having fun without me) and baked my mom and dad a pecan pie, from scratch. There is a hilarious picture somewhere of me frowning with the pie.
All milestones from that period of time are looked back on with fondness.
But then one day, I grew up and coming back from an awkward lunch, peed myself. I'm not talking 'laughed too hard and a couple drops sneaked out'; I'm talking PEED MYSELF. This was in my old car for anyone who is panicing. I went to lunch with my at-the-time boyfriend's mom and proceeded to drink 4 iced teas. Boy, do I love a good iced tea and a great waitress. After pausing momentarily and checking in to see if I needed to pee, I decided not so much and went on my merry way. About halfway home, panic set in. I called my boyfriend - "I am so scared! I am about to pee! This is the part of Culver with only residental houses!" I told myself I could totally make it home. I hung up with the boyfriend and proceeded to pee. And, again, not just a little, like a river of pee. It soaked my pants, my seat, and it was so formidable that it actually soaked the back of my seat and my jacket. So much pee.
So I get home and it's the middle of the day and there are no roommates home. I sit in my car for a moment and then make a break for it. I tie a sweater around my waist, hold my books in front of me and beeline for the apartment. I make it all the way up the stairs and reach into my purse for the keys to unlock the door, with dry freedom just in front of me, and realize....my keys are missing. Where did they go? I just came from the damn car and had to have the keys to get home! OH, they're locked in the car.
Now I am sitting on my stoop, sobbing, soaked with urine. Lucikly I'd given the boyfriend an extra key and he rushed over (I can still see him explaining to his boss: "Uh, family emergency??") and he let me in. I ran to the shower and got in, fully clothed, while I sobbed and removed my piss-soaked clothes. WORST. DAY. EVER.
It took a long time to be able to laugh about that. After my shower I called AAA to open my car, praying they wouldn't notice the tinkle.
So, my next exciting milestone happened today. I was casually standing in line waiting for Kogi to arrive and drown me in Korean tofu deliciousness an all the sudden my friend exclaimed:
"MISS JESSICA! You have gray hair - and not just one - a WHOLE LOT!"
Great....another exciting opportunity in growing up. And just one month shy of my 27th birthday.
Friday, December 3, 2010
The Price of Fancy
Waiting to leave a work party last night, I noticed a sign by the valet stand that said: "Suggested Valet Gratuity: $3.50". My contention is that there is a standard $2 gratuity for valets. Period. This was not a optional valet either - I was forced to hand my keys over. Plus, I could see my car.
I mentioned this to my old boss, a retired Marine, who was standing in line behind me.
Me: "Am I being a cheapass or does $3.50 sound a little steep for this?"
Him: "That is a little high, yah..."
Me: "Well, I'm giving my standard $2 tip..."
Him: "I got a $20 and a $1 - guess what he's getting"
So I handed him another $1 so we could poorly tip in solidarity.
I mentioned this to my old boss, a retired Marine, who was standing in line behind me.
Me: "Am I being a cheapass or does $3.50 sound a little steep for this?"
Him: "That is a little high, yah..."
Me: "Well, I'm giving my standard $2 tip..."
Him: "I got a $20 and a $1 - guess what he's getting"
So I handed him another $1 so we could poorly tip in solidarity.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
You remind me of the babe
Last night I attended a committee meeting of which I am a member and a new person came to take over a key position. A woman, named Linda, who looked like David Bowie in drag (or in the 70s, depending on which one you can most easily picture). She had his bone structure, coloring, even his teeth. It was so distracting. I just kept singing the Labirynth song in my head: "you remind me of the babe (what babe?) the babe with the power (what power?) the power of voodoo!"
One of my favorite things in the world is "celebrity spotting". This is best played while in a bar because people tend to dress up when they go out dancing. Earlier this year, my best friend and I discovered that Lake Havasu is a veritable oasis for retired Disney characters. We saw Ursula, the lady from 101 Dalmations, Christina Aguilera (before you politely point out she's not a character, she was on the Mickey Mouse show in her youth), Jafar, and a host of other characters. Ursula was a big ol fat lady who'd shoved her rolls into a tight black top, thus creating tentacles. She had her hair bleached and piled high. And her clevage could have swallowed an entire school of fish. In fact, at one point I swear it did.
On that same trip my BFF was accosted by a 60-year-old man dressed like a old school hillbilly and his new "wife". They looked like they had been dressed by Quentin Terantino to star in a horror film about a hillbilly wedding that gets interrupted by zombies. He practically ran up to her screaming "Tina Fey! Tina Fey! I can't believe you're at my reception!" I suppose she looks a little like Tina in that she has dark hair and glasses and is not particularly tan but the buck sorta stops there. There was no one else there who appeared to be attending their reception though so I am guessing that's their con: oh, we are newlyweds, can we have some free drinks? I'm just wondering how successful it is. My brother, who will soon be joining the service, has told people for as long as he could drink, and presumably before, that he's in the service in the hopes that someone will buy him a drink.
The husband used to get told he looked like the kid from Almost Famous and more recently folks have been comparing him to Michael Cera, much to his liking. I really don't get told I look like anyone. When I first dyed my hair darker I got Maggie Gyllenhall a lot but no one tells me I look like anyone anymore...until last week.
I like decorative hair accessories and I often get made fun of for them. There is one in particular that some people find offensive: a floppy cream-colored Magnolia headband. I bought it for $6 at Anthropologie, which, if you're familiar with that store, it is an amazing find. I once called a director at my work asking if I could please accompany my boss to a meeting they had that morning on budgets since I am more familiar with the working budget and he said "Ya, so long as you don't have that giant flower on your head." He was joking, but it scared me..."Oh my gosh! I totally do! How do you know that????" He had apparently seen me walking in that morning. So last week his wife, who also works here, told me I look like Garcia from Criminal Minds.
Hmmm.....maybe twenty years and a little more bleach?
One of my favorite things in the world is "celebrity spotting". This is best played while in a bar because people tend to dress up when they go out dancing. Earlier this year, my best friend and I discovered that Lake Havasu is a veritable oasis for retired Disney characters. We saw Ursula, the lady from 101 Dalmations, Christina Aguilera (before you politely point out she's not a character, she was on the Mickey Mouse show in her youth), Jafar, and a host of other characters. Ursula was a big ol fat lady who'd shoved her rolls into a tight black top, thus creating tentacles. She had her hair bleached and piled high. And her clevage could have swallowed an entire school of fish. In fact, at one point I swear it did.
On that same trip my BFF was accosted by a 60-year-old man dressed like a old school hillbilly and his new "wife". They looked like they had been dressed by Quentin Terantino to star in a horror film about a hillbilly wedding that gets interrupted by zombies. He practically ran up to her screaming "Tina Fey! Tina Fey! I can't believe you're at my reception!" I suppose she looks a little like Tina in that she has dark hair and glasses and is not particularly tan but the buck sorta stops there. There was no one else there who appeared to be attending their reception though so I am guessing that's their con: oh, we are newlyweds, can we have some free drinks? I'm just wondering how successful it is. My brother, who will soon be joining the service, has told people for as long as he could drink, and presumably before, that he's in the service in the hopes that someone will buy him a drink.
The husband used to get told he looked like the kid from Almost Famous and more recently folks have been comparing him to Michael Cera, much to his liking. I really don't get told I look like anyone. When I first dyed my hair darker I got Maggie Gyllenhall a lot but no one tells me I look like anyone anymore...until last week.
I like decorative hair accessories and I often get made fun of for them. There is one in particular that some people find offensive: a floppy cream-colored Magnolia headband. I bought it for $6 at Anthropologie, which, if you're familiar with that store, it is an amazing find. I once called a director at my work asking if I could please accompany my boss to a meeting they had that morning on budgets since I am more familiar with the working budget and he said "Ya, so long as you don't have that giant flower on your head." He was joking, but it scared me..."Oh my gosh! I totally do! How do you know that????" He had apparently seen me walking in that morning. So last week his wife, who also works here, told me I look like Garcia from Criminal Minds.
Hmmm.....maybe twenty years and a little more bleach?
Friday, November 19, 2010
But it's Friday!
Fridays at work are supposed to be the day you catch up. You return the ugly emails, do your filing, clean out the fridge etc. But today was a parade of surprise. You're hosting two workshops in December! You'll have to complete the on-site audits by January! You need to invite everyone TODAY!
I went to a meeting I had at 9am and waited in the conference room as two of the people who were supposed to be there arrived to work an hour late and walked right on by, realizing about 20 minutes later that I was stuck in the conference room with, we'll call him Mike.
Now Mike is your regular run-of-the-mill cocky douchebag. He's better than you, more good looking than you (never mind the receeding hairline, gut, and fact that he's 5'5"), smarter than you, and practically omniscent. Normally he won't even lower himself to speak to me but today, wow, he was hosting a talk show and I was the guest he'd been waiting for.
Are you drinking a milkshake this early? (it was a blended chai, thank you)
What's your married name again?
What nationality is that?
What was your maiden?
Is that a French name?
How old are you?
How old is your husband?
How did you meet?
Do you think you guys look alike? He totally looks like your brother....
Doesn't he have the same hair?
The same eyes?
Where did you get married?
and on and on and on ad nauseum
I answered politely, slowly, to show that I wasn't thrilled he was asking and very suspicious and even at one point asked "what minions are you reporting all this back to?" But none of it was stuff I was trying to hide - it's all stuff you could easily find out about me.
Though I must admit my response to the leading questions getting me to agree with his assessment that Todd and I look very much alike (which we don't) are my favorite.
Me: "Why because all white people look the same to you??.............Maybe it's because we have similar asthetics - as in we like cardigans and glasses..."
Him: "Yah, I guess my wife and I dress similarly..."
Me: "Oh? Does she also dress like a douchebag?"
He, of course laughed, thinking we'd shared a fun moment. Then when others finally joined the meeting, Mike recounted the discussion about how my husband and I look alike and the female coworker I guess "defended" me by saying:
"No! I think they are a great match! They look good together....I mean, if he were the same size as Mike I'd say you weren't as good a match..."
Again with the reference to my size! I am so over people giving me assessments of my height, weight, body, etc!!!!
I have 9 days off work starting tomorrow and it is coming at the best time possible, I really need a break.
A brief recount of the work party:
It was actually fun, they are just not my people. One of my coworkers looks like an Asian version of the Godfather (no joke) and walked around the party with 80s dance music blasting from the phone he had in his pants so it sounded like his penis was singing Cindi Lauper songs. We ate, drank, played Bunco. A good time was had by all. I even won a prize.
I went to a meeting I had at 9am and waited in the conference room as two of the people who were supposed to be there arrived to work an hour late and walked right on by, realizing about 20 minutes later that I was stuck in the conference room with, we'll call him Mike.
Now Mike is your regular run-of-the-mill cocky douchebag. He's better than you, more good looking than you (never mind the receeding hairline, gut, and fact that he's 5'5"), smarter than you, and practically omniscent. Normally he won't even lower himself to speak to me but today, wow, he was hosting a talk show and I was the guest he'd been waiting for.
Are you drinking a milkshake this early? (it was a blended chai, thank you)
What's your married name again?
What nationality is that?
What was your maiden?
Is that a French name?
How old are you?
How old is your husband?
How did you meet?
Do you think you guys look alike? He totally looks like your brother....
Doesn't he have the same hair?
The same eyes?
Where did you get married?
and on and on and on ad nauseum
I answered politely, slowly, to show that I wasn't thrilled he was asking and very suspicious and even at one point asked "what minions are you reporting all this back to?" But none of it was stuff I was trying to hide - it's all stuff you could easily find out about me.
Though I must admit my response to the leading questions getting me to agree with his assessment that Todd and I look very much alike (which we don't) are my favorite.
Me: "Why because all white people look the same to you??.............Maybe it's because we have similar asthetics - as in we like cardigans and glasses..."
Him: "Yah, I guess my wife and I dress similarly..."
Me: "Oh? Does she also dress like a douchebag?"
He, of course laughed, thinking we'd shared a fun moment. Then when others finally joined the meeting, Mike recounted the discussion about how my husband and I look alike and the female coworker I guess "defended" me by saying:
"No! I think they are a great match! They look good together....I mean, if he were the same size as Mike I'd say you weren't as good a match..."
Again with the reference to my size! I am so over people giving me assessments of my height, weight, body, etc!!!!
I have 9 days off work starting tomorrow and it is coming at the best time possible, I really need a break.
A brief recount of the work party:
It was actually fun, they are just not my people. One of my coworkers looks like an Asian version of the Godfather (no joke) and walked around the party with 80s dance music blasting from the phone he had in his pants so it sounded like his penis was singing Cindi Lauper songs. We ate, drank, played Bunco. A good time was had by all. I even won a prize.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Clenched
So today is our holiday off-site for the new department I'm in. Per standard operating procedures, I am dreading it. It is scheduled for 5 hours - from 11am to 4pm and is to be held at the assistant director's house. We are to eat and play Bunco. Both propose issues for me.
First, eating. As always, this department claims to eat a "MOSTLY vegetarian diet" but the sign-up sheet is chock-full of shrimp rolls, pork egg rolls, turkey, turkey broth, and, as always, a little bit of pork shoulder. My boss and I are both making stuffing. She told me hers was "MEAT FREE" so I, accustomed to having to teach people what is and is not an animal asked: "do you use vegetable broth?" and her reply was great: "Oh no, I use chicken broth, but other than that, there's no meat." Uh...chickens are animals which make meat which you have liquified. All lines still lead to meat.
Second, fun. I hate manufactured fun with your coworkers. Bunco is for old people and stepmoms. My old step mom plays it. So does the woman who I used to share a cubicle wall with who I am certain has Asperger's. Awkward middle-aged women LOVE Bunco. Myself, not so much.
So, as you are probably noticing, it's 10:57am. About ten minutes ago I noticed no one was leaving to get to this lady's house so I thought, silly me, 'let's ask her secretary!' I approached the secretary and this is what happened:
Me: Hey! How come no one is leaving?
Her: Uh, I thought 11am was too early. 11:30 is better.
Me: Oh. Are you telling people that?
Her: Not really...this is the first time I've been involved.
Me: OK, so what time are we supposed to get there? 11:30?
Her: Ya, or 12
Me: O.....K
I just received an invitation to be there at noon. Prepare yourself for a long post of fail tomorrow, my friends.
First, eating. As always, this department claims to eat a "MOSTLY vegetarian diet" but the sign-up sheet is chock-full of shrimp rolls, pork egg rolls, turkey, turkey broth, and, as always, a little bit of pork shoulder. My boss and I are both making stuffing. She told me hers was "MEAT FREE" so I, accustomed to having to teach people what is and is not an animal asked: "do you use vegetable broth?" and her reply was great: "Oh no, I use chicken broth, but other than that, there's no meat." Uh...chickens are animals which make meat which you have liquified. All lines still lead to meat.
Second, fun. I hate manufactured fun with your coworkers. Bunco is for old people and stepmoms. My old step mom plays it. So does the woman who I used to share a cubicle wall with who I am certain has Asperger's. Awkward middle-aged women LOVE Bunco. Myself, not so much.
So, as you are probably noticing, it's 10:57am. About ten minutes ago I noticed no one was leaving to get to this lady's house so I thought, silly me, 'let's ask her secretary!' I approached the secretary and this is what happened:
Me: Hey! How come no one is leaving?
Her: Uh, I thought 11am was too early. 11:30 is better.
Me: Oh. Are you telling people that?
Her: Not really...this is the first time I've been involved.
Me: OK, so what time are we supposed to get there? 11:30?
Her: Ya, or 12
Me: O.....K
I just received an invitation to be there at noon. Prepare yourself for a long post of fail tomorrow, my friends.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
She got a fat old ass
I've been told by a fat lady who was balding that next time I saw my hairstylist she needed to dye my eyebrows along with my hair so they didn't look so funny.
I've been told that my Halloween costume made me look exceedingly pale. As it turns out, I am pale. I was outside for a few hours on Sunday and got burnt...in November.
I've been told my giant feet don't look that big and people have guessed when I have news that I'm pregnant when I'm not.
I've been asked about zits I have and about clothing I haven't bothered to iron. I have really sensitive skin and people sometimes assume it's a hickey when I get a little red on my neck from something innocuous like a coat rubbing against it.
And I really don't care.
Well, it's not that it doesn't hurt my feelings because sometimes it does (the pregnant thing really got me) but it's that I still, after all that, choose not to put the time in to have perfect eyebrows or perfect hair or pristinely ironed clothes. And I can't really say why but I'm fairly certain it has nothing to do with me having low self esteem. It's not that I think I can't look great because I know when I spend hours on my hair and makeup and plan outfits and accessorize that I can look pretty great. But I also know that it will take hours to do that and it's just not how I want to spend my time.
But lately it's come to my attention that all my pants are tight again. It's come to my attention that all the weight I lost 2 years ago is back, lurking around my ass and thighs and I've gotten fat in place I've never gained weight before. It's time to get it back together. This is literally the worst time I could be deciding to do this because holidays at my work entail constant eating. I don't even like cake and pastries or chocolate.
So, this holiday season I'd like to say, keep your junk food and judgements while I work on the junk lingering in my trunk.
I've been told that my Halloween costume made me look exceedingly pale. As it turns out, I am pale. I was outside for a few hours on Sunday and got burnt...in November.
I've been told my giant feet don't look that big and people have guessed when I have news that I'm pregnant when I'm not.
I've been asked about zits I have and about clothing I haven't bothered to iron. I have really sensitive skin and people sometimes assume it's a hickey when I get a little red on my neck from something innocuous like a coat rubbing against it.
And I really don't care.
Well, it's not that it doesn't hurt my feelings because sometimes it does (the pregnant thing really got me) but it's that I still, after all that, choose not to put the time in to have perfect eyebrows or perfect hair or pristinely ironed clothes. And I can't really say why but I'm fairly certain it has nothing to do with me having low self esteem. It's not that I think I can't look great because I know when I spend hours on my hair and makeup and plan outfits and accessorize that I can look pretty great. But I also know that it will take hours to do that and it's just not how I want to spend my time.
But lately it's come to my attention that all my pants are tight again. It's come to my attention that all the weight I lost 2 years ago is back, lurking around my ass and thighs and I've gotten fat in place I've never gained weight before. It's time to get it back together. This is literally the worst time I could be deciding to do this because holidays at my work entail constant eating. I don't even like cake and pastries or chocolate.
So, this holiday season I'd like to say, keep your junk food and judgements while I work on the junk lingering in my trunk.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Send in the nothing, please
I hate giving my email address out to companies but somehow, at craft fairs, I get caught up in the glitter and rubber stamps and just give in. And it takes a lot for me to remove myself from your email list too. But after today, "I Break for Stamps" can kiss my ass.
First, I need to just remind everyone apparently that it is 2010. Clowns are no longer flocked and put on hallways walls, gleefully ushering people to the magenta bathroom in your brown-and-orange home. They are no longer invited to the party, OK?
It is now apparent to me that "I Brake For Stamps" is run by the oldest people on the planet. Things that are cool right now: owls, squirrels, cupcakes, CUTE THINGS. Not people in costumes that will eat you while you sleep. Anyone under 150 years old knows that clowns are scary and not welcome in the crafting world.
But, if you are criminally insane, please feel free to go to this link and purchase all the hideous stamps that will one day haunt your childrens' dreams.
Someone, please, check under Rick St. Dennis' bed for corpses.
First, I need to just remind everyone apparently that it is 2010. Clowns are no longer flocked and put on hallways walls, gleefully ushering people to the magenta bathroom in your brown-and-orange home. They are no longer invited to the party, OK?
It is now apparent to me that "I Brake For Stamps" is run by the oldest people on the planet. Things that are cool right now: owls, squirrels, cupcakes, CUTE THINGS. Not people in costumes that will eat you while you sleep. Anyone under 150 years old knows that clowns are scary and not welcome in the crafting world.
But, if you are criminally insane, please feel free to go to this link and purchase all the hideous stamps that will one day haunt your childrens' dreams.
Someone, please, check under Rick St. Dennis' bed for corpses.
Ghandi, is that you?
There are a lot of places my mind could have gone. 'Are you telling me that Ghandi is alive and fat and hanging out in diners, drive-ins and dives?' 'Are you asking for buttered toast?' 'Does your life not have as many stools as you were hoping for to put your left leg on?'
But I ended up sending this:
Papa,
I'm not sure what I'm looking at here? I can only guess this is the Eastern European version of you eating pie which is not creepy or irrelevant in any way.
Love you,
Jess
Thank God for my family. We have so much fun together. Be the change, Papa!
Monday, November 8, 2010
The Sap Continues
All right, I'm just on a kick. On a "Grateful, Thankful, Glad to Be Alive" sort of kick.
A dear friend forwarded me a blog entry from a woman who runs a therapeutic art camp for women in rural Idaho. I will admit, the camp is a little bourgeois. It's a little cheesy. But the point is that we all have pain and we all have struggles. We forget it though when we see others who are happier, richer, better than us. Or at least when we THINK we see people who are happier etc.
I've always been fascinated with psychology and psychological principles. I often think about the fundamental attribution error. It basically says, when I'm an asshole it's because I'm a good person having a bad day. But when you're an asshole, it's because you are, at your core, an asshole and not because you're having a bad day.
A dear friend forwarded me a blog entry from a woman who runs a therapeutic art camp for women in rural Idaho. I will admit, the camp is a little bourgeois. It's a little cheesy. But the point is that we all have pain and we all have struggles. We forget it though when we see others who are happier, richer, better than us. Or at least when we THINK we see people who are happier etc.
I've always been fascinated with psychology and psychological principles. I often think about the fundamental attribution error. It basically says, when I'm an asshole it's because I'm a good person having a bad day. But when you're an asshole, it's because you are, at your core, an asshole and not because you're having a bad day.
I'm often saddened when I do share myself to people that they keep quiet and avoid sharing themselves but lately I've been coming across people who do tell me their truths and who do share themselves willingly and who get true friendship back.
This blog post touched me and it made me think about the signs I might wear or that I've wanted to wear at different points in time.
I'm worried about my grandma because she has (HAD!) breast cancer.
I'm worried about my mom because my dad has an erratic job and sometimes paying the bills is tough.
I wish I had a better relationship with my brother.
I'm sad that my aunt can't get help for her addiction.
Think about your signs and stop being afraid to show them.
Read the post here.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Just keep laughing
Yesterday was a comedy of errors but through all of it, I just kept laughing.
While getting my coffee yesterday, Lori let me know that my front right tire looked low, nearly flat.
My first reaction: Great. Car shit. My favorite.
Before I knew it, another email had come in from Cherie letting me know that she too thought my tire looked funny.
My second reaction: Thank goodness for the wonderful people I work with! I wouldn't have known my tire issue until I had to leave for class and I had a presentation that accounted for 30% of my grade - yikes!
AAA came, handled that stupid tire, and only cost me $8 (which he annoyingly needed in exact change, which I had to borrow from a friend, but I digress).
At this point, I am gathering my thoughts and realize: the hem has fallen out of my pants. So, for lunch, off to Original Hems for a quick re-do and then off to the credit union to pay my credit card bill (it will be paid off by the end of the year!).
I just kept thinking, 'I am so lucky'. Lucky to have friends who look out for me, lucky to have my own car, lucky to have disposable income, lucky to have friends who let me borrow exact change, lucky to have AAA, lucky to know I have plans B-G if plan A fails, lucky to be in school, lucky to have pants! Just lucky!
The friend who I borrowed the $8 exact change from (OK, still bitter) told me that when she was coming to America from Denmark to marry the man of her dreams, her pants ripped at the seam in the, ahem, rear. Her father told her it was an indication of luck and I must agree with her, both she and him were lucky to have found one another, what a love story.
Todd tells me that Irish people consider it lucky when a bird poops on you. Without quoting Alanis Morisette, I definitely think misfortune is lucky. You can't really appreciate the good stuff if everything is good stuff.
While getting my coffee yesterday, Lori let me know that my front right tire looked low, nearly flat.
My first reaction: Great. Car shit. My favorite.
Before I knew it, another email had come in from Cherie letting me know that she too thought my tire looked funny.
My second reaction: Thank goodness for the wonderful people I work with! I wouldn't have known my tire issue until I had to leave for class and I had a presentation that accounted for 30% of my grade - yikes!
AAA came, handled that stupid tire, and only cost me $8 (which he annoyingly needed in exact change, which I had to borrow from a friend, but I digress).
At this point, I am gathering my thoughts and realize: the hem has fallen out of my pants. So, for lunch, off to Original Hems for a quick re-do and then off to the credit union to pay my credit card bill (it will be paid off by the end of the year!).
I just kept thinking, 'I am so lucky'. Lucky to have friends who look out for me, lucky to have my own car, lucky to have disposable income, lucky to have friends who let me borrow exact change, lucky to have AAA, lucky to know I have plans B-G if plan A fails, lucky to be in school, lucky to have pants! Just lucky!
The friend who I borrowed the $8 exact change from (OK, still bitter) told me that when she was coming to America from Denmark to marry the man of her dreams, her pants ripped at the seam in the, ahem, rear. Her father told her it was an indication of luck and I must agree with her, both she and him were lucky to have found one another, what a love story.
Todd tells me that Irish people consider it lucky when a bird poops on you. Without quoting Alanis Morisette, I definitely think misfortune is lucky. You can't really appreciate the good stuff if everything is good stuff.
Monday, November 1, 2010
For little old me???
An older story, but one worth repeating.
All packages are delivered to one of two buildings at my work location. When a package for you is received, the receptionist gleefully calls up to you. You then get to saunter like the Queen of England, going to pick up the custom fabrege egg that a diplomat from South Africa sent you, lean over the desk, tell them your name and reach your hand out, ready for wealth, lavish gifts, and any number of flora and fauna.
So, when I got "the call" a few weeks ago, I was ESTATIC! I was having a bad day and could have really used a little treat. Is it an edible arrangement? Is it a bouquet of flowers? Is it a check for the exact amount of debt that I carry?
It is important to note the actual conversation that occurred when I got "the call."
Me: Hello?
Receptionist: Hi! You have a package here!
Me: OH! Is it something good?
Receptionist: Yeah, it's something really good!
Me: I'll be right down!!!!
Then running ensued. I pushed the elevator button, heart full of glee and hope, and arrived at the first floor reception desk to find....
...An empty pizza box. I looked up, dejected, and the receptionist told me that zPizza hates empty pizza boxes and that, if taken to the right location, they will fill it with a zPizza creation of my choosing! Apparently, they liked my business so much they wanted to give me free pizza.
Now, I am a fat kid. Free pizza is like a kiddie pool full of cool water for a labrador. But I was expecting something really fabulous. After schooling the receptionist on what constitutes an exciting delivery and what constitutes an OK delivery, I took my empty pizza box back to my desk.
I had a nice little date with the husband a couple weeks later but I will never trust the receptionist who cried "something good" again.
All packages are delivered to one of two buildings at my work location. When a package for you is received, the receptionist gleefully calls up to you. You then get to saunter like the Queen of England, going to pick up the custom fabrege egg that a diplomat from South Africa sent you, lean over the desk, tell them your name and reach your hand out, ready for wealth, lavish gifts, and any number of flora and fauna.
So, when I got "the call" a few weeks ago, I was ESTATIC! I was having a bad day and could have really used a little treat. Is it an edible arrangement? Is it a bouquet of flowers? Is it a check for the exact amount of debt that I carry?
It is important to note the actual conversation that occurred when I got "the call."
Me: Hello?
Receptionist: Hi! You have a package here!
Me: OH! Is it something good?
Receptionist: Yeah, it's something really good!
Me: I'll be right down!!!!
Then running ensued. I pushed the elevator button, heart full of glee and hope, and arrived at the first floor reception desk to find....
...An empty pizza box. I looked up, dejected, and the receptionist told me that zPizza hates empty pizza boxes and that, if taken to the right location, they will fill it with a zPizza creation of my choosing! Apparently, they liked my business so much they wanted to give me free pizza.
Now, I am a fat kid. Free pizza is like a kiddie pool full of cool water for a labrador. But I was expecting something really fabulous. After schooling the receptionist on what constitutes an exciting delivery and what constitutes an OK delivery, I took my empty pizza box back to my desk.
I had a nice little date with the husband a couple weeks later but I will never trust the receptionist who cried "something good" again.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
11 minutes too long
I shit you not, my Korean friend sent me this tonight. Along with a political email and complaining about taxes and another email about globalization that was miraculously racist.
Please, shut off the tv, put the kids to bed, and really enjoy. You deserve it.
Please, shut off the tv, put the kids to bed, and really enjoy. You deserve it.
Confessions of a Teenage Overachiever
Yes, it's true. I once based all my self worth on how well I did in school. I learned my lesson and stopped all that crap in college but, I am willing to admit, it again reared its ugly head. That heart-sink feeling, that 'wow, I typed 11 pages for my study guide' and studied for two weeks and finished in 39 minutes and wrote two pages for a 5pt essay...and I got a C.
Now, to be fair, he misworded a question, which brought me to a B and misread my essay which could mean getting an A. But still, that ugly little part of me that says "you're not good enough! you're not smart enough! you don't study enough!" still rears his little head every once in awhile.
Yes, I know being bummed out about a B is misplaced. Yes, I know it's not the end of the world. I just feel like I work so goddamn hard and, well, I wasn't expecting it. I know I set high standards and that when I don't meet them, I tend to punish myself. I'm working on it.
In other news, lots of fun things happening this weekend. Jarret's pumpkin carving party. Todd and I are dressing as Scott Pilgrim and Ramona Flowers. Yes, that is how he dresses all the time. Yes, I do wish I could have pink hair all the time. There's also a public service women's event hosted by my college and I'm getting my hair did and we are going to see PETER PAN at the Performing Arts Center! Lots of wonderful stuff to look forward to. Also, Starf*cker is playing at Detroit tonight and we may head over if we can be awake for it. I have a sore back and rug burns on my knees...I know what you're thinking but it's from decorating our conference room for Halloween. Getting too old for hard manual labor!
Now, to be fair, he misworded a question, which brought me to a B and misread my essay which could mean getting an A. But still, that ugly little part of me that says "you're not good enough! you're not smart enough! you don't study enough!" still rears his little head every once in awhile.
Yes, I know being bummed out about a B is misplaced. Yes, I know it's not the end of the world. I just feel like I work so goddamn hard and, well, I wasn't expecting it. I know I set high standards and that when I don't meet them, I tend to punish myself. I'm working on it.
In other news, lots of fun things happening this weekend. Jarret's pumpkin carving party. Todd and I are dressing as Scott Pilgrim and Ramona Flowers. Yes, that is how he dresses all the time. Yes, I do wish I could have pink hair all the time. There's also a public service women's event hosted by my college and I'm getting my hair did and we are going to see PETER PAN at the Performing Arts Center! Lots of wonderful stuff to look forward to. Also, Starf*cker is playing at Detroit tonight and we may head over if we can be awake for it. I have a sore back and rug burns on my knees...I know what you're thinking but it's from decorating our conference room for Halloween. Getting too old for hard manual labor!
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
No-no-notorious
It just never stops.
Last night in class I realized that I had a friend who may work with the ladies who attended my unfortunate lunch at the Korean BBQ. I said: "Hey Rene? Do you know a lot of other people who work at your organization?" His reply: "Yah..." "Do you know Fran and Megan?" "Yah, really well, actually Megan took me to lunch for my birthday last....[GASP]....that was you!!!!!" Realizing, of course, that I am the scared vegetarian.
Apparently my name is being spread at a large organization in a less-than-flattering manner.
In other news, I am tired and cranky. But not as cranky as this guy who will not be getting my vote, mostly because he is insane.
Last night in class I realized that I had a friend who may work with the ladies who attended my unfortunate lunch at the Korean BBQ. I said: "Hey Rene? Do you know a lot of other people who work at your organization?" His reply: "Yah..." "Do you know Fran and Megan?" "Yah, really well, actually Megan took me to lunch for my birthday last....[GASP]....that was you!!!!!" Realizing, of course, that I am the scared vegetarian.
Apparently my name is being spread at a large organization in a less-than-flattering manner.
In other news, I am tired and cranky. But not as cranky as this guy who will not be getting my vote, mostly because he is insane.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Oh, you fancy huh?
I am perenially fascinated by men who dress better than me. Maybe it's because men in my family have an odd propensity for shorts (short shorts, sweat shorts, light-colored jean shorts). Maybe it's because last week when the husband was getting ready for work I noticed he was putting a shirt on he'd worn two days earlier and when I confronted him he promised it was over a fresh undershirt, like that was somehow better? Maybe it's because I dress like a sexy grandma. Regardless, that Charles Phoenix is a snappy dresser. Though, I'm fairly sure in the wrong neighborhoods he'd get beat up for it but man, he is a sight.
A group went out Saturday night for a good old-fashioned 3-D slideshow and were regaled with stories and visuals from Phoenix. Of note is that he was nicely dressed not once but twice during the show. He first emerged from backstage with an ironic suit on that was actually two suits, one red and one blue, sewn together (Get it? Like 3-D glasses). The second suit was red and white gingham print and featured a Colonel Sanders necktie that was BEDAZZLED. It made me feel shameful for being a jewelry designer who is always too tired to accessorize.
I was relieved because I'm never sure if these things will fascinate the husband like they do me but apparently 3-D photographers have two preferred subjects: cars and boobs. The retro 3-D slide show turned out to be very heterosexual. Of course, whe we were looking at the lighted stereoscope boxes with a series of photos in the lobby, the husband said "aw, did you see the bunny?" and I said, "WOW, so many naked ladies!"
I finished paper #4 of 5 for my org theory class and I can't wait to get it out of my hands. Only one more paper and then I can coast until December.
Tomorrow is mom's 49th birthday and I am very sad to be in another state. I wish I was picking her up for brunch, a massage, some nail art from my favorite nail shop, and an afternoon of antique shopping. The bad news is that we're not doing that tomorrow. The good news is that we ARE doing that on November 12, 13, 14 when I will have all my homework done ahead of the weekend so we can just have fun. Please raise your glass to the smartest, warmest, most jubilant and wonderful woman I know, my mom.
A group went out Saturday night for a good old-fashioned 3-D slideshow and were regaled with stories and visuals from Phoenix. Of note is that he was nicely dressed not once but twice during the show. He first emerged from backstage with an ironic suit on that was actually two suits, one red and one blue, sewn together (Get it? Like 3-D glasses). The second suit was red and white gingham print and featured a Colonel Sanders necktie that was BEDAZZLED. It made me feel shameful for being a jewelry designer who is always too tired to accessorize.
I was relieved because I'm never sure if these things will fascinate the husband like they do me but apparently 3-D photographers have two preferred subjects: cars and boobs. The retro 3-D slide show turned out to be very heterosexual. Of course, whe we were looking at the lighted stereoscope boxes with a series of photos in the lobby, the husband said "aw, did you see the bunny?" and I said, "WOW, so many naked ladies!"
I finished paper #4 of 5 for my org theory class and I can't wait to get it out of my hands. Only one more paper and then I can coast until December.
Tomorrow is mom's 49th birthday and I am very sad to be in another state. I wish I was picking her up for brunch, a massage, some nail art from my favorite nail shop, and an afternoon of antique shopping. The bad news is that we're not doing that tomorrow. The good news is that we ARE doing that on November 12, 13, 14 when I will have all my homework done ahead of the weekend so we can just have fun. Please raise your glass to the smartest, warmest, most jubilant and wonderful woman I know, my mom.
Friday, October 22, 2010
Hired a new nutritionist, feeling very nourished
The call finally came, my friend from the Korean association. I'd been telling myself I needed to call and just say hello since I departed so rapidly from the uncomfortable lunch last week but I just couldn't bring myself to do that. Instead, I waited. Here is as close to an actual recording as I can get:
Me: Hello? [Guess what? I know his number.]
Him: Hi! Jessica! I've been meaning to call you!
Me:.....[panic at potentially having to explain sexism to this man]...
Him: Yeah, you did not eat very much last week and....I have been very worried
Me: Why??
Him: Well, I am just worried you are not getting proper nutrition...you may be undernourished...
Me: [in the most positive, upbeat, totally-not-uncomfortable voice possible] OH! You don't need to worry about that! I'm fine! I just don't eat very much! Thanks for your concern! Have a great weekend!
Him: OK, bye.
It struck me that I was protecting this man from the truth. First, that I hated the lunch; second, that I hate talking politics with...well, anyone; third, that I felt alone there and like I wasn't ready for the responsibility; fourth, that I thought he was a raging sexist; fifth, that if he was joking, he didn't know me well enough to do so.
But my mom taught me a long time ago that people don't just change. You can't convince an old Korean man that Loretta Sanchez is rad or that hunks of steaming meat are not rad. He's just going to do his thing and I'm going to have to do mine. Confrontation is pointless and the best plan for me is to make it ok so I can just do my job. A friend reminded me, brilliantly, that in the future it's "against company policy" to accept any meals from clients.
But it was really hard to not say: "BITCH PLEASE! I'm overweight by like 40 pounds!" Yes, I understand you can be overweight and not be getting the proper nutrients but it does look pretty ridiculous for him to tell someone 15 inches and 75 pounds more than him that he's worried I'm "undernourished."
In other news, Charles Phoenix is tomorrow and I am so excited. Charles holds a special little place in my heart. I hope to post pictures this weekend from that event.
Glad the week is over. Decided to write a term paper on this instead of my perception that all women executives at my work are embarrassingly underpaid when compared to their more penis-enabled cohorts. It just made me feel too much like burning a bra. This is more timely and makes me feel like eating hummus so I can let my friend know I am a-ok on the nutrition front.
p.s. Don't tell the cats we're taking them to get microchipped tomorrow morning. I'm tired of worrying about them getting out because they insist on being naked (read:collarless).
Me: Hello? [Guess what? I know his number.]
Him: Hi! Jessica! I've been meaning to call you!
Me:.....[panic at potentially having to explain sexism to this man]...
Him: Yeah, you did not eat very much last week and....I have been very worried
Me: Why??
Him: Well, I am just worried you are not getting proper nutrition...you may be undernourished...
Me: [in the most positive, upbeat, totally-not-uncomfortable voice possible] OH! You don't need to worry about that! I'm fine! I just don't eat very much! Thanks for your concern! Have a great weekend!
Him: OK, bye.
It struck me that I was protecting this man from the truth. First, that I hated the lunch; second, that I hate talking politics with...well, anyone; third, that I felt alone there and like I wasn't ready for the responsibility; fourth, that I thought he was a raging sexist; fifth, that if he was joking, he didn't know me well enough to do so.
But my mom taught me a long time ago that people don't just change. You can't convince an old Korean man that Loretta Sanchez is rad or that hunks of steaming meat are not rad. He's just going to do his thing and I'm going to have to do mine. Confrontation is pointless and the best plan for me is to make it ok so I can just do my job. A friend reminded me, brilliantly, that in the future it's "against company policy" to accept any meals from clients.
But it was really hard to not say: "BITCH PLEASE! I'm overweight by like 40 pounds!" Yes, I understand you can be overweight and not be getting the proper nutrients but it does look pretty ridiculous for him to tell someone 15 inches and 75 pounds more than him that he's worried I'm "undernourished."
In other news, Charles Phoenix is tomorrow and I am so excited. Charles holds a special little place in my heart. I hope to post pictures this weekend from that event.
Glad the week is over. Decided to write a term paper on this instead of my perception that all women executives at my work are embarrassingly underpaid when compared to their more penis-enabled cohorts. It just made me feel too much like burning a bra. This is more timely and makes me feel like eating hummus so I can let my friend know I am a-ok on the nutrition front.
p.s. Don't tell the cats we're taking them to get microchipped tomorrow morning. I'm tired of worrying about them getting out because they insist on being naked (read:collarless).
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Can't stop the craft
First, updates.
Food crisis was averted at Joe's by a slim margin. No one ordered a bucket of torture and my salad was all right. They did however bring it out first with bacon and then remedied that quickly. I mean, I know you're a seafood restaurant and all and perhaps not familiar with more traditional meats but bacon, as it turns out, comes from an animal. Someone at the table said "well, bacon is more like meat candy", which I liked.
Had my first midterm last night. Class began at 7pm and I was out the door at 7:39pm, home by 8:00pm. This sounds promising however, for whatever reason, I could not fall asleep. My mind was racing with ideas and solutions for the Halloween conference room competition that I was not going to participate in.
You see, people get a whif of someone who can MacGyver some newspaper into a papier-mache mask and they target you like a fat zebra. Someone sent an email out about coordinating the decorations for the conference room and added at the bottom: "Jessica! I hear you have a talent for this stuff!" so I was immediately thrown on a committee, pressed for ideas and committed to winning the competition. Unfortunately, I swore up and down when I was promoted that I would remove myself from all frivilous tasks. No more decorations, no more planning lunches, no more Halloween coordination, nothing that could make people see me as anything less than a professional. Well, all that's gone to shit. My cube is decorated with sparkly skulls and spider web, I planned my boss' birthday lunch and conceived the idea for our Halloween event. Craft is like crack and I can never get enough.
Side note: I work with a lot of operations folks who tend to be a bit like engineers: dry, prompt, a little off. When I completed my decorations one middle-aged man walked by, took it all in and said "Yeah, I assumed you would be one of those." Hilarious.
When I told the husband that I was participating in Halloween despite my vehement declarations that I would not, under any circumstances, participate, he laughed and said that I'm having some serious withdrawls and that there is an embossing tool-sized hole in my heart now that school's in session. Truth!
Our company craft fair is in a few weeks and I am holding myself back. I have some rings leftover from a summer craft fair so I may try and hawk a few for some Christmas money. The husband has placed an advanced order for a PS3 because apparently 5 gaming systems aren't enough...says the woman with an entire drawer of rubber stamps.
Food crisis was averted at Joe's by a slim margin. No one ordered a bucket of torture and my salad was all right. They did however bring it out first with bacon and then remedied that quickly. I mean, I know you're a seafood restaurant and all and perhaps not familiar with more traditional meats but bacon, as it turns out, comes from an animal. Someone at the table said "well, bacon is more like meat candy", which I liked.
Had my first midterm last night. Class began at 7pm and I was out the door at 7:39pm, home by 8:00pm. This sounds promising however, for whatever reason, I could not fall asleep. My mind was racing with ideas and solutions for the Halloween conference room competition that I was not going to participate in.
You see, people get a whif of someone who can MacGyver some newspaper into a papier-mache mask and they target you like a fat zebra. Someone sent an email out about coordinating the decorations for the conference room and added at the bottom: "Jessica! I hear you have a talent for this stuff!" so I was immediately thrown on a committee, pressed for ideas and committed to winning the competition. Unfortunately, I swore up and down when I was promoted that I would remove myself from all frivilous tasks. No more decorations, no more planning lunches, no more Halloween coordination, nothing that could make people see me as anything less than a professional. Well, all that's gone to shit. My cube is decorated with sparkly skulls and spider web, I planned my boss' birthday lunch and conceived the idea for our Halloween event. Craft is like crack and I can never get enough.
Side note: I work with a lot of operations folks who tend to be a bit like engineers: dry, prompt, a little off. When I completed my decorations one middle-aged man walked by, took it all in and said "Yeah, I assumed you would be one of those." Hilarious.
When I told the husband that I was participating in Halloween despite my vehement declarations that I would not, under any circumstances, participate, he laughed and said that I'm having some serious withdrawls and that there is an embossing tool-sized hole in my heart now that school's in session. Truth!
Our company craft fair is in a few weeks and I am holding myself back. I have some rings leftover from a summer craft fair so I may try and hawk a few for some Christmas money. The husband has placed an advanced order for a PS3 because apparently 5 gaming systems aren't enough...says the woman with an entire drawer of rubber stamps.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Ready! Set! Crab!
I normally don't pay much attention to not eating meat but this week is rife with uncomfortable meat experiences, so please accept my apology for unintentionally flaunting my superiority...I mean vegetarianism.
An interesting phenomenon occurs when you tell people you are a vegetarian. It is sometimes akin to telling people you're gay. If they don't know any vegetarians, they are uncomfortable. Sometimes people accept it with a brief explanation that is normally something like: 'think about whatever you eat, and subtract meat - that's what we eat.' Sometimes it makes people angry. Though, admittedly I've never been persecuted for not eating meat, so maybe it's not the same.
I am reminded of one such occassion when I spent my first Thanksgiving when Todd and I were dating with his extended family. One cranky aunt quipped, when we didn't accept turkey, "WHY DON'T YOU GIVE ME A LIST OF WHAT YOU CAN EAT THEN!" Ouch lady, calm down and pass the mashed potatoes.
This week my new team decided we would honor the boss with a trip to Joe's Crab Shack. Have you been there? If not, let me explain why it belongs in one of the inner circles of hell.
First, I do not like to be humilated while I eat. I don't even like the threat of people potentially humiliating me while I eat. I also do not like to see servers, people who are forced to pick up people's disgusting leftovers, take shit from all sorts of customers, and all for lousy pay and marginal tips, be expected to dance like trained bears for the people who are short-tipping and making their lives miserable. It's barbaric.
Second, I'm ok with you eating meat. I really, honestly, don't care. Eat a hamburger! Cut that steak! But I really don't need to see you rip carcass apart. The tables at "le shack' are used as plates. They give you a giant bucket for dead fish to rip apart with your grubby little hands. Again, barbaric.
I am dreading this. It's worse that it makes me look like a crappy member of the team so I have to smile and order a side salad and pretend that I am super full (please pass the bread!!). A friend suggested I order dessert for lunch, which is tempting.
Third, I am going to be expected to pay for a lunch that I didn't eat. Joe's Crab Shack will charge me for a salad as though it had meat on it. Do you know how much lettuce costs? Basically nothing.
Well, off to fit into my new department. Looks like someone will be stopping by Chipotle on their way to class!
An interesting phenomenon occurs when you tell people you are a vegetarian. It is sometimes akin to telling people you're gay. If they don't know any vegetarians, they are uncomfortable. Sometimes people accept it with a brief explanation that is normally something like: 'think about whatever you eat, and subtract meat - that's what we eat.' Sometimes it makes people angry. Though, admittedly I've never been persecuted for not eating meat, so maybe it's not the same.
I am reminded of one such occassion when I spent my first Thanksgiving when Todd and I were dating with his extended family. One cranky aunt quipped, when we didn't accept turkey, "WHY DON'T YOU GIVE ME A LIST OF WHAT YOU CAN EAT THEN!" Ouch lady, calm down and pass the mashed potatoes.
This week my new team decided we would honor the boss with a trip to Joe's Crab Shack. Have you been there? If not, let me explain why it belongs in one of the inner circles of hell.
First, I do not like to be humilated while I eat. I don't even like the threat of people potentially humiliating me while I eat. I also do not like to see servers, people who are forced to pick up people's disgusting leftovers, take shit from all sorts of customers, and all for lousy pay and marginal tips, be expected to dance like trained bears for the people who are short-tipping and making their lives miserable. It's barbaric.
Second, I'm ok with you eating meat. I really, honestly, don't care. Eat a hamburger! Cut that steak! But I really don't need to see you rip carcass apart. The tables at "le shack' are used as plates. They give you a giant bucket for dead fish to rip apart with your grubby little hands. Again, barbaric.
I am dreading this. It's worse that it makes me look like a crappy member of the team so I have to smile and order a side salad and pretend that I am super full (please pass the bread!!). A friend suggested I order dessert for lunch, which is tempting.
Third, I am going to be expected to pay for a lunch that I didn't eat. Joe's Crab Shack will charge me for a salad as though it had meat on it. Do you know how much lettuce costs? Basically nothing.
Well, off to fit into my new department. Looks like someone will be stopping by Chipotle on their way to class!
Monday, October 18, 2010
Korean BBQ, not for me
So I started a new job and grad school within 3 weeks. I can handle it but it's been a challenge. The new job is sorta sink or swim, grad school is sorta sink or swim. I am swimming but in an old timey bathing suit with a classy handlebar mustache.
For the new job, I had to go to a lunch with a Korean association who receives grant money from my program. They made me tour the facility they refuse to air condition and then they made me go to lunch.
First, coffee. We all use the same spoon which we dip in the creamer and then in the coffee, then in the brown sugar, then in the coffee. The third person who did this LICKED THE SPOON. It got me thinking...During coffee they talked politics while I politely declined to state my political affiliation. They were looking forward to the day that Republicans ruled again (except for Sarah Palin, they HATE her, which made me laugh out loud). The bummer is that I am a flaming liberal but I was wearing my Nancy Regan suit that day and pearl earrings which makes me look like, you guessed it, Will Ferrell as Janet Reno (was she a Republican? well, she looked like one anyway*).
Then, a photo. They blew up the grant check really large and made me take a photo with them as though I was the benefactor, which made my tummy hurt. It's all about perception. I'm also 5'11" with no shoes on and have flaming red hair...picture me and 5 Koreans. Are you picturing this?
Then onto KOREAN BBQ. I'm a vegetarian. I took some salad and what appeared to be spicy bok choy and ate quietly, slowly, as my favorite suit soaked up the steam from liver, stomach, bacon, beef, chicken etc. I got a little nauseous and then excused myself promptly after this comment:
"Boy, your husband must really love you...you eat so little....you don't cost him very much to keep."
And so ends my tolerance for other cultures.
*upon further research, homegirl was a democrat and had a very unfortunate middle name: Wood.
For the new job, I had to go to a lunch with a Korean association who receives grant money from my program. They made me tour the facility they refuse to air condition and then they made me go to lunch.
First, coffee. We all use the same spoon which we dip in the creamer and then in the coffee, then in the brown sugar, then in the coffee. The third person who did this LICKED THE SPOON. It got me thinking...During coffee they talked politics while I politely declined to state my political affiliation. They were looking forward to the day that Republicans ruled again (except for Sarah Palin, they HATE her, which made me laugh out loud). The bummer is that I am a flaming liberal but I was wearing my Nancy Regan suit that day and pearl earrings which makes me look like, you guessed it, Will Ferrell as Janet Reno (was she a Republican? well, she looked like one anyway*).
Then, a photo. They blew up the grant check really large and made me take a photo with them as though I was the benefactor, which made my tummy hurt. It's all about perception. I'm also 5'11" with no shoes on and have flaming red hair...picture me and 5 Koreans. Are you picturing this?
Then onto KOREAN BBQ. I'm a vegetarian. I took some salad and what appeared to be spicy bok choy and ate quietly, slowly, as my favorite suit soaked up the steam from liver, stomach, bacon, beef, chicken etc. I got a little nauseous and then excused myself promptly after this comment:
"Boy, your husband must really love you...you eat so little....you don't cost him very much to keep."
And so ends my tolerance for other cultures.
*upon further research, homegirl was a democrat and had a very unfortunate middle name: Wood.
Shoes
One way I've found myself unwinding from a long day lately is buying shoes online. The first pair was purchased after I realized my current leopard print shoes were...moulting, I guess is the word. They looked like they needed to be taken to pasture. Which is sad. They were a Target find $29 and pointy with a Betsey-Johnson esque patent leather bow. Sigh.
So I bought a replacement pair from Nordstrom and the experience was like fifteen thousand back massages. I bought them online and chose "pick up in store" and they were waiting for me at the customer service counter less than 12 hours later all packaged and beautiful.
Then I decided, hmm, all my black heels smell like stinky feet. Time for a new pair! I'd been eyeing a pair at Aerosoles and bought them on 10/8/10. I was charged $75 on 10/8, another $75 on 10/9, and ANOTHER $75 on 10/11 for ONE PAIR OF SHOES. I called 10/12, they told me they'd refund but that it would take a day or two. It took more than 2. Then they never told me they weren't available from the warehouse so they had to ship from NYC. THEN they never told me they shipped. I called to complain, something I hardly ever do. The girl just said "umm.......hold on" and made me hold for several minutes only to come back and tell me she'd send it to her manager. OK. What the hell are they going to do?
Anyway, they arrived today and they are.....ugly. Yep. They look like shoes my mom had in the 80s. I look like a very classy 80s secretary.
Now I have to try and return these behemoths and I just don't wanna. Taking them to the store tomorrow. So much for therapy.
So I bought a replacement pair from Nordstrom and the experience was like fifteen thousand back massages. I bought them online and chose "pick up in store" and they were waiting for me at the customer service counter less than 12 hours later all packaged and beautiful.
Then I decided, hmm, all my black heels smell like stinky feet. Time for a new pair! I'd been eyeing a pair at Aerosoles and bought them on 10/8/10. I was charged $75 on 10/8, another $75 on 10/9, and ANOTHER $75 on 10/11 for ONE PAIR OF SHOES. I called 10/12, they told me they'd refund but that it would take a day or two. It took more than 2. Then they never told me they weren't available from the warehouse so they had to ship from NYC. THEN they never told me they shipped. I called to complain, something I hardly ever do. The girl just said "umm.......hold on" and made me hold for several minutes only to come back and tell me she'd send it to her manager. OK. What the hell are they going to do?
Anyway, they arrived today and they are.....ugly. Yep. They look like shoes my mom had in the 80s. I look like a very classy 80s secretary.
Now I have to try and return these behemoths and I just don't wanna. Taking them to the store tomorrow. So much for therapy.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Graduate school is mostly tiring
It is true that students get older but it never gets less "high school." There are cliques, labels, and there is a marked return to the most fearful part of school: that no one likes you.
After almost every class, someone asks: "Did I talk to much? Do you think people are upset because we kept them there longer?" Admittedly, this person is often me but I can find comfort in asking it that the other responses are often "I thought I was talking too much too!"
I find myself looking at people's shoes, judging. We make fun of one another like siblings. Everyone sits in the same place every class. One day a row of guys who always sit next to one another wore the exact same blue button-up shirt and black pants. You can imagine how well that went.
Right now I am studying for a midterm and writing my 4th paper in 8 weeks. It's rather slow-going. Paper is about NASA, namely the Challenger and Columbia explosions and the internal workings at NASA that allowed people to knowingly overlook safety issues.
Midterm is for an HR class wherein the professor gave us a study guide and even revealed what the essay will be on: motivation. I don't think it's more than 30 questions long. Someone urged him to create a word bank and I think he agreed. Isn't that bizarre? I mean, we are not in 7th grade. We're supposed to be learning this stuff so we can be in these professions and use this theory to run departments, right? But then again, my husband has been calling me "The Hermoine Grainger of the MPA program." Touche.
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