September Resolution

Being lucky enough to be naturally non-ugly and unlucky enough to have a genetic predisposition to laziness, I rarely, if ever, put an effort into my appearance. (I will deign to make an effort when going out but then one can look fun and funky, rather than resembling a totally perfectionist Stepford). This was fine in high school, even finer in college but I am beginning to realize that more polish is required in the working world.

Unfortunately, I’m not really sure how to get said polish. Whenever I attempt to put on makeup, I invariably wind up feeling that I looked a whole lot better before all that shit went on my face. This is probably because I have had no practice and now all the annoying girls that got up three hours early to curl their hair in high school have untold advantages over me.

One cannot live in New York and not notice the women marching around, just as put-together as the socialites in magazines. (One reason being, sometimes they actually are the socialites in magazines). I have always been rather unaffected by this, yet suddenly the competitive nature of my new job, combined with Perky’s perfectionism, have made me believe the littlest slip up in appearance or demeanor will negatively influence my chances for winning. And not just winning in the corporate world but winning in LIFE. Or something. I have the feeling that this is precisely how every woman in New York feels, with equally nebulous ideas about what “winning” actually constitutes.

Also, I caught the gay man of our office staring at my feet today. I was wearing basic black sandals so it is more likely that he was entranced by the sad condition of my feet rather than the fabulousness of my shoes. It is time to get on the grooming bandwagon.

My September Resolution: From this day forth, I will be a well-groomed, stepfordish, highlighted, manicured, pedicured, impossibly perfect goddess.

To being a put-together, snotty New York bitch!

I feel exhausted already.

My Credibility

Just told one friend, S, about Ex-Boyfriend experience. (As a girl, you must always tell one other girl. Besides, telling one person does not constitute "telling", it is simply "sharing the burden of knowledge").

S laughed at me and reminded me that I have been going on and on about how I wasn't even remotely attracted to Ex-Boyfriend anymore and that the thought of him touching me made me want to vomit. According to her, I have also been publicly contemplating the whys and wherefores of his weight gain and sudden pastiness.

Lies! I am not that fickle.

S said "Your credibility is shot."

In an effort to be honest...

I will relate that two nights ago I saw Ex-Boyfriend because he called (again) and I finally answered due to equal parts nostalgia and boredom. Once at his place I told him that if he fucked others whilst fucking me I would physically hurt him. He seemed to think this statement was a bit odd, since last time we spoke he had been exclaiming over how much we belonged together in, you know, a SERIOUS FASHION. I can see how focusing solely on the issue of temporary monogamy might be a bit like taking things three steps back. Still, I felt that my promise of physical harm needed to be voiced, seeing as I do intend to make good on it should the situation arise. It is not that I don't trust him (though, of course, I don't), I just like to be clear about these things.

I then had wonderful sex with him all over my apartment last night and have not begun to feel bad about it yet. In fact, I still feel quite good about it.

My only caveat is that I am not sure how I am supposed to find the man I'm going to marry while I'm having ridiculous sex with the Ex-Boyfriend. Then again, I am not sure how I am supposed to find that man anyway, so why play the lonely, bored, stoic singleton in the meantime? I'm a cute, twenty-something in New York damnit and if I want to screw men that are bad for me, this is the time and place to do it.

I am not telling any of my friends though. I am not sure they would see it my way....

My Boss...

...terrifies me. scares the shit out of me. makes me want to hide underneath my desk.

He is blonde with a very cute boyish smile that he only uses when delivering bad news. When he makes (what I think are) jokes, he does not smile at all. Sometimes he will laugh, which I believe is intended to be reassuring but is actually frightening since he has mastered the strange art of laughing without smiling.

Jokes include:
"I don't see why your position isn't part-time."
"You're saying you sent that e-mail? I'm saying you're a liar."
"You are completely useless to this company."

Thankfully, none of these have been directed at me. Maybe he senses I am fragile.

He does, however, issue vague yet urgent directives which I run around trying to complete without asking for clarification because he is so fucking scary. For example: At 11:30 this morning, Boss told me to get some sales figures. The actual words out of his mouth were "You know how to run that sales report for 2004? I need it for this meeting." He then marched out of my "office" leaving me with the thoughts: What meeting? Which sales report? What the fuck?

When he left, I had a fit of panic and figured I could just get all the sales figures for all our products. I am just now realizing this is a stupid, stupid plan, and I need to go ask him what exactly he needs the figures for. Unfortunately for me, an hour has passed since his request and so I will appear either retarded or lazy.

Instead of dealing with the situation I am writing this, further compounding the problem.

I know, I am a total pussy. I will go be brave now.

I wonder if it is time to accept the fact that tonight, once drunk, I will be calling Ex-Boyfriend...

Ex-Boyfriend Strikes Again

After a period of three weeks in which Ex-Boyfriend repeatedly declared his honorable intentions, both freaking me out and making me happy (then freaking me out because who the hell is he to make me happy), I ended things ONCE AND FOR ALL last Saturday. By ONCE AND FOR ALL I mean that I woke up in his apartment and realized I didn't really want to be dating him again because he is

a) insane
b) evil
c) getting fat

I tried to gear up for an "I mean it this time, we are so over, seriously, no really, for real" type conversation, but felt exhausted and so snuck out the front door at 7am.

I was sad when I thought it was really over. Then Tuesday he began with a text message, soon escalated to multiple calls a night, and finally left a voice message that, though the words were normal enough ("Hi, it's me, blah blah blah") was inexplicably delivered in a cross between a British accent and the "Hi and welcome to Moviefone" voice.

Now I am thinking that maybe I miss him because he is

a) insane
b) interestingly moral-free
c) not fat yet

Also, in a city like New York, it is incredibly rare to find someone who is not playing the "I've totally been to that restaurant and it sucked" game. I went out for drinks last night with two of my guy friends and I found myself unable to participate in three quarters of the conversation because when I actually had been to that restaurant, it hadn't sucked.

The posturings of insecure nice guys who are earning a salary barely above mine (which begs the question--how in God's name are they affording these trendy little hot spot restaurants?) and think it's cool to dislike everything weaken my Ex-Boyfriend resolve. This is not to say that Ex-Boyfriend isn't snotty in his own right, being, as he is, completely obsessed with money and how much smarter he is than other people. But somehow this seems, on the whole, less pretentious than finding it necessary to fake displeasure with everything, out of fear of being caught liking something uncool.

The Rules Are Tricky

As discussed, my office is not so much an office as an "office" or cube with elongated walls. This means that I can hear everything that goes on in other "offices". Unlike regular cubeland, in which everyone knows you can hear everything, our "offices" are built upon the illusion that they are real, proper offices. To admit I can hear anything would be admitting that the offices are shoddy bits of plywood covered in bulletin boards whose "walls" do not even extend to the ceiling. I have been willing to play along with this "Emperor's New Clothes" type setup, however I am beginning to be confused about the rules.

Apparently, I cannot hear anything when: my boss is upset, crass jokes are made between friends, people bitch about their co-workers.

I am supposed to hear when: my boss calls my name, someone has a work-related problem with which I can help.

Gray area: a conversation begins as a personal one, then veers into business territory and someone calls out to me "Hey, did you catch that?"

I always err on the side of deafness, but now co-workers are beginning to think I am a little slow, rather than simply hearing-impaired or "office"-etiquette retarded.

My boss just called me into his office and told me that when writing company missives, I should substitute "crack open" for "read". This is to convey energy. Earlier today, he had me send out a company-wide e-mail that closed with the phrase "If you think you can do it, come on over. Me and all my sorority sisters will take you on".

Perhaps he is developing a "sassy" persona for me? Ugh.

I was sitting here, minding my own business, reading random celebrity gossip online as I am wont to do, when the janitor/custodial manager/company old guy walked into my office and began opening and closing file cabinet drawers.

I considered possible explanations. Perhaps he was senile and his unannounced entrance into offices and systematic opening of cabinets was a company problem one must learn to deal with. But then a girl appeared behind him and started cooing noises of approval as the old man continued to open and close drawers.

I was confused. Did the girl want my file cabinets? Did the man? Then the girl frowned. She stared at the wall above my computer.

"Is there anyway to get more shelf space in here?" she asked.

"Oh yes, definitely, that shouldn't be a problem at all." He nodded reassuringly.
Uncertainly, I stood up and began to move stuff out of my filing cabinets.

"Oh don't worry!" the girl said, looking at me for the first time. "It's not happening now."

I nodded like I totally knew what "it" was, sat back down and pretended to be busy at my computer while the two puttered about behind me, taking measurements and laughing happily.

I will assume I am being booted out of my office, back into the land of cubes where my company bitchdom belongs. This is fine. But doesn't someone have to tell me?

Things My New Job Has Given Me

1. Windows 98
2. An office
3. The ability to pretend that I cannot hear my boss yelling "fuck" at his ex-wife through the office "walls" that do not actually extend to the ceiling.
4. Legal sized hanging folders when all my file cabinets are letter sized. (If you hang them diagonally, they fit).
5. Free coffee every morning
6. Free bagels every morning
7. The somewhat disturbing knowledge that when faced with free bagels and coffee I will consume both until I am just shy of vomiting.
8. A perky girl that hates me because she fears I will begin to tell her what to do when she is only 6 months younger than me.
10. An actual salary
11. Nightmares
12. Four wheely chairs that sit akimbo in my "office" and that I knock into at least twice a day.

Part of being a company bitch is using work computers to search for other, slightly senior company bitch jobs. After two interviews and a follow-up phone call, it appears that someone is offering me a job, salary and exact position title to be determined. Though I may be counting my chickens before they've hatched, I can also see the light at the end of the tunnel (it's metaphor day!). Having (almost) made it out of first job hell, I'd like to offer some tips on lying to your boss when you have an interview for another, and marginally better, job.

1. Dentist/Doctor. The more specialized the better. Say "doctor" and people will suspect it is a euphemism. Say "ear doctor" and people will be concerned for your health. (However, if you are a girl, and you can manage saying "doctor" with the correct degrees of embarassment and defiance, everyone will assume you're going to the gyno and will leave the situation entirely alone. Ideal!)

2. Apartment troubles. Again, be specific and try to include "waiting". You have to wait for the cable guy. You have to wait for the super to fix your toilet. (Just say "it doesn't flush". People will be disgusted and not question you further). Your air conditioner is broken and you have to wait for the ac people to come look at it. (Only attempt this in the summer).

3. Death/Disaster. If you have morals and/or superstitions and so will not lie about such things as a father's hospital stay or a mother's life-threatening fall down the stairs, then I'm sorry. These are fail-proof excuses as it would be incredibly rude, insensitive and tacky to question such an event. (It is also rude, insensitive and tacky to lie about it, but you can't win them all.) The downside is that you have to look sad for awhile at work and feel secretly guilty when people do nice things for you.

4. College friend in town. Good when you want to take the whole day off. Also this is tantamount to admitting you are playing hooky (skipping on work to drink and reminisce) so the last thing people will expect is that you're lying. If you were lying, you would probably pick a lie that positioned you in a better light. Ha.

The less creative, the better. People's lives are generally pretty dull. Now go forth and lie!

I have spent the past four days in a convention center, huddled to one side of the company's booth, trying to avoid the arrogant pervert/very famous comic artist that was ensconced on the other side.

The arrogant pervert/very famous comic artist spent his days signing posters and gesturing for me to come sit by him. He looked to be around my father's age, yet spent a significant amount of time speaking to my boobs. (Note that I have small boobs--it is not difficult to look away). Besides age, disqualifying factors included an Australian accent (he has not to my knowledge, ever been to Australia), tight tapered jeans, and the several gold chains around his neck--this made more sense when someone informed me that his heyday was in the 70s. Clearly he had decided to cling to what once worked. I laughed out loud when someone warned me "Watch out, he's a notorious womanizer".
It was not so much the fact that he was skankily hitting on me when I had no escape route. (Being chained to the company booth is part of being a company bitch at a convention). It was that he flirted in such a manner that implied that I should be flattered, even grateful. Calling me beautiful was like an afterthought, as if he only needed to go through the motions before I fell into bed with him, starstruck and eager to please. (Ewww.)

But on the bright side, it's the end of convention bitchery for me, I come home tomorrow.

I have read The Washingtonienne and I am in love. If Ex-Boyfriend wanted to pay me $400 for anal, not only would I let him, I really think I would feel better about the whole situation. At once a week, he'd pretty much be doubling my salary.

I realize the book is intended as a cautionary tale rather than an insprirational one, but one must take inspiration where one finds it...