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?
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