if i made stews i would be a real person

Recently, I have begun to believe that I am the most boring person on earth. As a mom, wife, and 9-5er, I felt comforted in knowing that I was expected not to have a life, interests, hobbies, etc. Work, babies, hubby filled my time -- I couldn't possibly round myself out with anything more than a dreamy, illicit cover-to-cover US Weekly read.

I find solace in knowing I am far to busy with day-to-day life to be anything but apathetic in my free time (hahahaha, what "free" time, right fellow family gals/guys??).... right? Understandably, I fraternize with a legion of folks in the same boat. Or do I?

Now I have begun to believe I have been lied too. All those comrades who bitch and moan that they "have no life" and are so boring are l-i-a-r-s.

They make stews.

They boil their rice in chicken broth....NOT WATER. They have chili cook-offs with their Connecticut friends. They cook in-bone ox tail....just as an experiment. Something they saw in an obscure foodie blog. Fuck.

These "commiserate-ers" don't just have time to make stew...nay, they also have the wherewithal to pick the freshest ingredients (even writing that phrase irks me), throw "whatever works" into a pot, and to allow it to simmer for a good long time while they add spices. spicesss...plural. The real kick in the labia? Their house then smells like grandma's house in the dead of winter. Ugh. These are the same people who claim they are just gettin' by. People who make stews are interesting....and liars.

Oh, and there is more. These same people have blogs. Blogs they update....regularly. Tripped out blogs with cool fonts and professional-like flickr pics.

They write pithy, spot-the-fuck-on Facebook updates.

They read. Books. Lots of them. Cool, Smart people books. And blog about them. While the stew is cooking. Fuck.

They tweet links to causes they support "hey - my friend who designs sustainable art installations in her studio gallery in Bushwick has begun a foundation that feeds purple orphaned baby muskrats in the trees of [insert country I have NEVER heard of]."

Fuck. And why aren't these stew cookers supporting mainstream causes talked about on Oprah...? Oh, is it that they are too busy "not having a life" to watch Oprah.

They read the NYTimes Style section.

They take ironic videos of their kids and post them on YouTube.

They fund raise for their kid's school.

They vote in primaries.

They go to exhibits (the boyfriend's brother of the Bushwick artisit/world saver).

They make their kids halloween costumes. (they say they don't but the do!)

The pick pumpkins in fields, carve them, and toast the pumpkin seeds for a snack later.

Wait.

I do that, I do that!

....shit.....

I don't do that, my hubby does.

I just eat them.

i love you, but how f******* hard is it...? (installment #1)

...to throw your socks in the hamper after use?

(a sampler)

I think my kid might be depressed

did i mention...

...in this utopia of a company i work for, our building is home to about a dozen modelling agencies....one of whom is NEXT door to our office. Day after day 14-18 year old leggy, doe-eyed models line the halls. as i pass them i can feel their envy, their longing, their admiration. all i can do is shoot them an empathetic look that says "hey, don't despair kiddo -- you too can end your torment as an objectified beauty, get saddle bags, cellulite, and a job as a middle manager. keep working at it and all that your see before you can be yours...maybe even the title 'Engagement Director' like me. maybe. no promises, just a goal kiddo....just a goal."

sigh

it has been a while people (xmastime - need more free publicity here...). much has happened over the last several weeks. for the 2 readers i have left, an update:

we bought a new car! traded in the 1994 honda passport for a newer version. i am officially a suburban mom who drives her gas guzzling honda pilot (yes playah hatahs it does have leather interior) to and from work, the grocery store, and ikea. frankly, i find the whole business erotic.

lil peanut has taken to pointing out the color of people's skin. the scene: getting blood drawn at a LabCorps in Bklyn; sitting in waiting room. an indian man sits across from us. "look mommy, a black man!" ummmmm. yea. well at least he does not discriminate - the white folks get quite the shout out too. sweet. i am an incompetent, racist mother. who finds eroticism in being suburban.

we have officially started on lil peanut #2 (and no i will still bite your head off if you make cutesy remarks like "are you not driiiinking tonight??"). with military precision i have managed to render my simple-pleasures-hubby impotent for the first time in seven years...or...well... ever. i guess, "DO IT NOW" is not that much of a turn on....unless i am Ulga of the Tundra...but i lost that wig and walking stick. on the bright side i have a feeling tonight might just be the night...huzzah hot hubby!

We had an organizational consultant come in and re-do our closets. hubby spent most of the time drinking beers and staring down her low cut shirt. i, however, managed to only stare down her low cut shirt. in any case our closets are now martha stewart ready. and i feel that my OCD has been acutely satisfied. I realized just how obsessive I am about clutter and hoarding. i'd throw out lil peanut's baby book if it took up too much room. and that is because i am an obsessive compulsive erotic suburban mom.

(hubby's closet)

finally, i have decided that i was adopted. consider the evidence, mon frere:

mad men

i have read and heard numerous reviews all raving about AMC's new series Mad Men. while i have not yet seen the show, i can't help but chuckle at the now historic stereotypical role of the "ad man" in the 50s/60s. specifically, the show "depicts authentically the roles of men and women in this era while exploring the true human nature beneath the guise of 1960s traditional family values."

fortunately for us "ad women" much has changed since then. and yet, in many pockets of the corporate world, much has not (duh, i guess). for example one of my clients is a large ecommerce company. when i started on the account i was brought in to meet all the key players. here's how that first meeting went down:

as i entered the offices, i was quickly greeted at the reception area by a chesty young girl with a perma-frown who offered me coffee while i waited (and she made it very clear I was not to leave the seated area to find my meeting -- "oh, you can't go back there!").

little miss muffet informed me that the ceo, xxrry (all the C-types names there end with "rry" which is creepy to begin with), is not quite ready for me. ok, no big deal there, but i did start to feel i was on the set of 'the office' only it lacked any sort humor. so i felt obliged to help myself to 15 jolly ranchers sitting in a bowl beside me while i waited (and a couple tootsie rolls, but who's counting really).

i was eventually "allowed" to go back to the main offices and head to the door at the end of the hall where xxrry's office was located (corner and all). as i entered the main room, i felt overwhelmingly uninspired. not only did all of the conference rooms i passed have kitchsy corporate monikers on the door like "teamwork", "respect", and "customer value", but the fluorescent lighting did not shield the dingy cubes that made up the interior of the space. the walls were lined with windowed offices, all of which had male names on the door (about 10 offices, and not one woman). all of the cubes housed women whom were the admins for each of these men (cue "working girl" music).

i approached the ceo's closed door office and was stopped by his admin, a beautiful and, yes chesty woman with a perma-frown, who asked me all sorts of movie script-type questions, "do you have an appt. with my xxrry?" "is he aware you are coming?". really? this isn't LA Reid's office....i mean c'mon!!!

i was finally allowed in to meet with ceo xxrry. (keep in mind this is an ecommerce company that peddles web site design/hosting services...this is not TRUMP!). ceo xxrry directed me to sit in a seat across from him and promptly leaned back in his chair and put is feet on his desk. lounging and smug, he began firing off questions to me:

him: "where did you go to college?"
me: "didn't"
him: "what is you background"
me: "hookin'"

ok, so i answered a bit more truthfully than that, but damn if those answers weren't at the tip of my tongue. needless to say, i made no attempt at humor, and if anything did all i could to display my sheer lack of enthusiasm with his bravado (its a half smile, tilted head, eye thing i do).

once he seemed relatively satisfied with my answers he responded, "such an extensive background for someone who looks so young." sure, he could easily have said that to any fresh faced guy (ahem, yes, i did say "fresh-faced" playa hatahs). but it was the way he said it. it was the smirk. it was that fact that a line-up of chesty, florescent flooded women stood outside his office ready to jump at his beck and call.

upon the close of his meeting i half expected him to send me on my way, open up his personal bar to poor a glass of brandy for himself and his cfo (also present in the meeting), sit back and talk about my "assets".

fast forward 2 months and there i am negotiating payment of 800k they are withholding. i am in a board room ("teamwork", perhaps?), sitting across from 3 c-types, xxrry, xxrry, and xxrry. since i triumph when expectations of me are low, i kicked some c-level ass. when did it turn the corner? when it was somehow disclosed in the course of negotiations that i had a 2 year old son. there was a level of resepect(?) that came to the surface. or at least i percieved it as such -- was i now the madonna, the tough-as-nails working woman, or did they finally know how to categorize me which gave them some parameters? likely the latter. in retrospect it was more a sense of relief than respect.

in any case, what struck me in that meeting is that i felt like i was in a room scripted from the '50s. i could smell the insecurity. and, all i could do is be grateful i am not part of their perverse coporate construct....except in the fact that i can work hard to discount it. and keep stealing 20+ jolly ranchers everytime i show up.

on a lighter note

is anything better than 3/4 cookie crisp cereal with 1/4 cold whole milk when you have a hankering for something sweet, but not too sweet and something filling but not too filling? damn. that's good.

mike savage controversy

mike savage is a prick. that seems to be a pretty obvious characterization (to any rational thinking adult, anyway). do i agree with his remarks around autism? for the most part, no. but i am not scientist, nor well read in the area of autism. like any parent, i read what i can online (i *think* 'autism' was ranked the #8 google search term in 2006). i think his comments were shallow, hurtful, and probably ignorant. BUT, i can't argue that autism is always properly diagnosed. but i digress...

irrespective of the fact that this prick made vulgar accusations, he did open up raw dialogue on the topic. he freely spoke and as a result we, as listeners, are freely responding. if i hear one more comment about how he should be immediately fired i will go ballistic. whatever happened to free gotdamned speech? if everyone agreed with everyone else....well you know the argument. mike savage is not yelling fire in a crowded theater. he is simply expressing his twisted opinion, as painful as it may be. so fire him? no.

why do we have a right to pick and choose who is fire-worthy based on the opinions (privately funded) people choose to espouse? can we put up a stink, counter-argue, or attack their ignorance if we object? hell yea. thus is the beauty of free speech.

mike savage's comments have spawned incredible debate and brought the subject of autism to the forefront. the conversation is happening now. Use this rebuttal airtime as an opportunity to prove your point, not whine about the ignorance of others and the subsequent need to fire them.

so when are you going to get pregnant again?

sigh.

very few people ask if i plan to get pregnant again. it is always when. based on the number of people who have asked me in the last 3 months, i get the sense it ought to be soon. i know i am supposed to be selfless and all, but when i hear that question, i rephrase it in my mind: "when are you going to blow up to the size of a porpoise, pop some vericose veins, add on some more stretch marks, and piss yourself everytime you laugh or cough?" or better yet, "when are you going to lose all sex drive, not be allowed to drink alcohol nor eat sushi, have to put all of your sassy new clothes in storage, feel a sense of rage for all non pregnant skinny bitches, and throw-up for 12 weeks straight?"

"hmmmm, soon i guess?"

getting pregnant not only requires me to have sex, but does require some planning. it goes something like this:

me: "hubby how about next month?"

hubby: "we have 2 weddings and your foot cyst surgery"

me: "right, i'd say the month after next, but we have our yearly romantic get-a-away and the big [insert friend's name here] birthday party. i was planning to get pretty wrecked at that."

hubby: "ok, so the month after that"

me: "naw, getting my hair dyed -- made that appointment with francoise jean louis six months ago"

hubby: "yea, let's figure it out during our next family meeting"

me: "k"

so for all of you wondering, "when is kate gonna get preggers again?" -- you'll know when i have roots.

just another monday

oh my, what's this? a spread of fruits and tea sandwiches laid out as a simple afternoon snack? why thank work office manager fairy, i do think i will partake in one or 12 of these delightful little snacks.

the luckiest little girl

the birth of my niece has been a highly emotional experience for me. not only is she my sweet, perfect little niece, but she is my brother's daughter. my big brother's daughter. yes, he has a son (again, perfection doesn't begin to describe that little boy), but that is different. 2 stinky boys being boys. seeing that brand new little girl look up in her old soul way at her father, my brother, filled me with more love and peace than i could ever begin to harness.

my brother is a complex guy. he is angst ridden, sweet, an asshole, humble, kind, patient, impatient, moody, grounded, brilliant, perplexing, resolved, loyal, beautiful, passionate, competitive, goofy, introspective, learned, forthright, frustrated, bold, and quite possibly, next to my lil peanut, the purest and most true love of my life.

I grew up with a big brother who saw me as perfect. he inspired me to take risks, to appreciate myself and to respect. he kept me safe, he kept me laughing, and he kept me close to his heart. i am/was the luckiest little sister.

my niece is now the luckiest daughter. i do know, that without a doubt, my niece is going to teach my brother more about himself than anyone ever could. as a big brother, a husband , and now a father to a perfect little girl, my niece is going to cut right through him. she is going to see him as only a daughter could. he will be putty in her hands -- the purest and most true love of his life. and, in return, she will grow up to be a magnificent woman because she had him as a father.

hubby healing

hotty watty. looking sharp pre-op.

hubby's knee surgery was a success (tracking down a pharmacy post-op at 7pm that was not only open but had percocet was a different story....lucky for hubby i am a pill popper, so i had PLENTY of back-up).

he is in some amount of pain, but is loving all the nurturing. he has taken up to texting me requests while i sit in the next room. some notables thus far (not dramatized; veiwer discretion advised):

"babe, next time you come back can you bring me a blankie and some pringles."

"peanut, can i get some more gatorade...i like the curly straw"

"i really like percocet."

"man, you can make a mean pb&j"

shockingly i think this whole exercise may even spice up our sex life. he is due a sponge bath tonight. saucy.

tally today: dog healed, hubby healing, niece.....not yet here! c'mon little girl!!

a breezy week in the life of your average, working mom

• sunday- throw smallish bday party for 2 year old (4 tantrums); host mom until 11pm (both get drunk and I get weepy)
• monday - my fat chihuaua instigates a fight, injured and in shock (3 tantrums)
• tuesday- day off of work to enjoy lil peanut's bday (5 tantrums; 2 from hubby), take fat chihuahua to emergency vet, catch-up on work for several hours late into evening (1 massive bedtime tantrum)
• wednesday - work (6 meetings), client drinks, dog meds (2 tantrums)
• thursday - lil' peanut's 2 year doctor check-up, work (5 meetings), prep for hubby's surgery tomorrow, painter comes for estimate, watch a miserable episode of LOST (3 tantrums)
• friday - 7am pilates, work remotely at hospital while hubby gets knee surgery (6 meetings) , get him home, hubby meds, dog meds (2nd vet visit?)
• saturday - solo tip to fairway with lil peanut, tend to hubby, 'music together' class, trip to city?
• sunday - lil peanut swim class, tend to hubby, baby niece arrives??

and my US Weekly wasn't delivered again this week. damn.

no matter. cause i got my boys: lil' peanut, crippled hubby, and fat chihuahua. there is no better feeling than being needed. what they don't realize is that i really need them a whole heck of a lot more than i suspect they need me.:

2 trips to the hospital (1 dog, 1 hubby)

1 birthday party

1 client schmoozing happy hour

3 classes (1 me, 2 lil peanut)

17 work meetings

19 tantrums

1 painter estimate appt.

1 solo trip to Fairway w/ a 2 year old

Being a loved mommy and wife: priceless

in response to my buddy, xmastime...

...who responded to my "things that piss me off" post:


1. people who cut you off (in a car) and don't do the obligatory hand wave



XMASTIME: I don’t like the obligatory hand wave; it tells me the person was aware of what they’re doing. I like to think that to have the gall to cut me off, they must’ve been driving shitfaced. “BETTER fucking be drunk!” I’ll say as I see a beer can fly out the window.

To be clear, Xmastime's window.



2. Holding the door open for people who then briskly walk through without so much as a 'thank you.

XMASTIME: I don’t know this one. Nobody breezes into a building I’m holding the door open to without asking if I live in the building, who do I know in the building, do I have somewhere else to go, etc. You may know these people as “cops.”

I said "briskly". If they were "breezing" I would have had enough time to say, "hey bro, can you move it along?"



3. cops (unless they are stripping or singing)

XMASTIME: Those are the ones.

Sooo, you hold doors in buildings for breezy people who are naked and singing?



4. big toe hair (do i shave it?)

XMASTIME: Yes, a cameltoe joke writes itself here, but like I said the LF is a friend of mine and I respect her, so you won’t be getting the joke here. Though as usual you “Xmas Insiders” who are paid up through this month may email me for the riff I would’ve used (Platinum Members – your Fleshlights should’ve arrived in the mail by now, contact me if they haven’t.)

joke? camel toes are no joke. unless paired with ankle pegged acid washed jeans.



5. muffin tops

XMASTIME: If this is a tasty euphemism for “fat chicks”, I’m with you here. (also tasty: “fat fucking pigs.” Mmmmm.)

it's not.



6. weavers (people who walk painfully slow and weave in and out of your path as you attempt to pass...."hurry it up grandma!")

XMASTIME: ah, you Motherfuckers on the Sidewalk. It happens EVERY FUCKING TIME I LEAVE MY HOUSE. But especially if I’m running just a liiiiiiiittle late and kinda wanna book it to the train; this is when the “Total Fuckwad Bat-Signal” goes out and people swarm the sidewalk to slow me down. But it’s not the number of people, it’s how they somehow cleverly fill up the sidewalk JUST enough so I can’t pass them. They’ll spread out 3 or 4 wide, seemingly passable, slooooooowly dithering along as I’m bobbing and weaving behind them, looking for a hole. Four hipster motherfuckers looking around like it’s the first time they’ve ever seen bricks and windows, and I’ve gotta be fucking Gale Sayers to get by them. They’re really brilliant – I try to go left and they JUUUUUUUUUST ease over to the left so I can’t get by. At any step I’m perfectly, geometrically hemmed in by any combination of trees, garbage, cars and fuckwads. Unreal. The hand signals these people must have. “He’s going right!! Use the Happy Hour sign to cut him off!” Takes 20 minutes to walk two blocks, and by then I’ve actually walked about 18 miles, darting back and forth left and right trying to pass these motherfuckers. Unreal. Bravo, fuckwads.You super-fans (read: horny sluts!) may recall this from here.Ooooh stealing from myself; how Fogerty! So fucking sue me, I need the publicity.

enough said.


really.


7. the term 'bro'



XMASTIME:



"Cowboy up"



8. delivery folks who don't bother to buzz even though you are home and purposefully waiting for the gotdamn package.


XMASTIME: What are you doing at home during the day? Jesus Christ, do you white people fucking work?


Flummoxed. What exactly does the manny/blogger/video auteur do all day?



9. nyc bus driving

XMASTIME: Really? When do you find yourself driving a bus in NYC? Do you live in a Die Hard movie?


No, Speed. And Keanu loves my camel toe.



10. bikers who scream "share the road!" and then cut you off to run a red light (see item 1)


XMASTIME: I’m with you there, bikers are fucking worthless. “The devil’s oven mitts”, one may say.



One may



11. people who get in the elevator ahead of you and HAVE to push their floor button at the expense of anyone getting on in a timely manner, then standing directly in front of the button panel as you attempt to make your selection all the while acting disgruntled by your need to reach around them to select a floor. fuckers.


XMASTIME: I like these people; if it’s a woman, it gives me a chance to “accidentally” hit some chest fat while trying to punch my floor button. If it’s a man, I just close my eyes and hope it’s only fat.


or breezy naked cops.




12. cellulite


XMASTIME: Is it me, or is it ironic that the last 4 letters in “cellulite” are “lite”? Who comes up with these names? Cruel fucker! (tho prolly not a fat ass)


no. it's really not funny. it's bullshit is what it is.



13. bugaboos


XMASTIME: Those things do suck. Christ, look at it – where the fuck do you put your empties? No thanks.


or one hitters.



14. bugaboo moms

XMASTIME: Oh, I’ll still do them if(in) I(the) can.


You'd first have to remove the pole.




15. the fact that i can't afford a bugaboo


XMASTIME: So you’re unemployed, poor, and drive a bus around the city for fun.


No, I would just rather spend my money on me.



16. the olive garden commercial where the "grandson" treats his "grandfather" to a meal. "grandfather" doesn't look a day over 46.


XMASTIME: Maybe “grandma” was a cum-guzzling town slut of a whore and got knocked up at 15? I dunno why, but that just reminded me of the fact that the last date I ever went on with my first girlfriend was at the Olive Garden. Interesting.


Betty Vaughn still talks about it.




17. golf umbrellas used as everyday city umbrellas. not the problem. the fact they DON'T THINK TO LIFT IT ABOVE YOUR HEAD or move around you as they "share the sidewalk" is a problem. assholes.


XMASTIME: Sorry, but if you know the difference between a “golf umbrella” and an “everyday city umbrella,” you might be a bit of an asshole. :(18. not getting my US Weekly delivered in a timely manner (every Thursday mr/mrs postperson!!!)That, I'm on board with.


i meant In Touch.



19. street spitters


XMASTIME: Better than sidewalk nose-blowers. All trumped, of course, by chicks who take umbrage cause I’m looking at their tits to read their t-shirt that reads “CRAZY 4 (picture of a chicken)” Excuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuse me, Grandma!!


What?




20. Baked Lays....you get 3 chips to a bag. fraudulent.Ugh.


XMASTIME: These baked fucking things, they taste like wood. Without the flavor. The only thing worse than 3 baked chips is 4 - like another dick in your own bedroom, it’s always one too many.


Unless it's mine.

things that piss me off...this week

1. people who cut you off (in a car) and don't do the obligatory hand wave
2. holding the door open for people who then briskly walk through without so much as a 'thank you'
3. cops (unless they are stripping or singing)
4. big toe hair (do i shave it?)
5. muffin tops
6. weavers (people who walk painfully slow and weave in and out of your path as you attempt to pass...."hurry it up grandma!")
7. the term 'bro'
8. delivery folks who don't bother to buzz even though you are home and purposefully waiting for the gotdamn package
9. nyc bus driving
10. bikers who scream "share the road!" and then cut you off to run a red light (see item 1)
11. people who get in the elevator ahead of you and HAVE to push their floor button at the expense of anyone getting on in a timely manner, then standing directly in front of the button panel as you attempt to make your selection all the while acting disgruntled by your need to reach around them to select a floor. fuckers.
12. cellulite
13. bugaboos
14. bugaboo moms
15. the fact that i can't afford a bugaboo
16. the olive garden commercial where the "grandson" treats his "grandfather" to a meal. "grandfather" doesn't look a day over 46.
17. golf umbrellas used as everday city umbrellas. not the problem. the fact they DON'T THINK TO LIFT IT ABOVE YOUR HEAD or move around you as they "share the sidewalk" is a problem. assholes.
18. not getting my US Weekly delivered in a timely manner (every Thursday mr/mrs postperson!!!)
19. street spitters
20. Baked Lays....you get 3 chips to a bag. fraudulent.
21. my hubby's ass in the morning.

and evening. really dear, give it a rest.

end of the love affair

my new job has a kickball league. an enthusiastic, raring-to-go kickball league.


and a hiking club.


waiting for the impromtu hackey sack circle before i stage my walk out.

office viddles update

yesterday evening: cheese plate with assorted meats, water with sliced lemons. elegantly laid out in the kitchen. meant for subtle grazing. i scarfed. in process knocked over the nicely laid out carlsberg bottles ready for recycling pick-up.

lunch today: saw folks setting up a b-b-q buffet in the main loft space. assume it is for fancy pants client. nope. for us. reactions around me are blase(!). i almost pissed myself in excitement. mac & cheese, pulled pork, corn bread, chili, and all the fixin's. water with sliced cucumbers.

toonces.

1999?

party people. i apologize for my radio silence, but i have been busy....starting a new job is all!! aside from the irritable bowel i have managed to tame with copious amounts of imodium (for another post: "imodium: can an over-the-counter product ever be nominated for the Nobel?"), i have thus far settled in nicely. i have to admit however, i am waiting for reality to set in.....

the new agency that employs me is smallish - about 100. we are all happily communing in a large, light-filled open loft that overlooks the DUMBO bridge. there are three conference rooms with fresh tulips (really). the conference rooms are named: justin, britney, and paris (really). the accent color of the company logo/brand is hot pink (think t-mobile) with accents of dark gray (it works). the handbook states that dress is "comfortable and confident." that's me. upon my arrival my desk was adorned in treats of gourmet chocolate. maternity leave policy? don't have one yet....have not had a need thus far. the week b/w xmas and new years is always off (unless there is pending client work -- i mean, we do work). the kitchen is stocked every monday with bananas, trail mix, granola bars, and some big mounds of fresh green grapes. there is an espresso maker. i can, on occasion, hear the squeals of children playing outside in the dumbo park. little doggies follow their owners around the office so long as they stay out of every one's way and don't bark, piss, or crap. in early may there is a company-wide field trip to MOMA. there is an email address, "offtopic@xyzcompany.com where you can email such things like, "who's up for a beer at superfine -- be there at 6pm", or "check out this amazing new google app blah blah blah", or "soccer today! meet at the park after work". the best part of it all? we have work. and LOTS of it. folks here work their butts off, are completely grounded from what I can tell so far, and all of this oddly 1999 agency stuff seems effortless.

i would enjoy these things more if i weren't at the client or in meetings in one of our three pop star named conference rooms. but i gotta say....this place is earnest. i can guarantee i will not be hearing any "ad guy phrases"....but then I haven't worked closely yet with any of the Creatives...we may be in for a green M&Ms only in my dressing room treat......but somehow i think it will be mounds of grapes...and they are for everyone.

bulbous

for the first time in my life, i have started to really consider the possibility of cosmetic surgery. maybe it's the thirty something "why when i finish smiling is there a circle around my mouth?" lament. i have always preached my adamant belief in the post child bearing tummy tuck and boob lift. i look forward to the day when i can simply eat pancakes and muffin tops rather than wear them. i am saving up for that day.

it's the less obvious things that are surprisingly bothersome (here is where i should mention that i am incredibly self critical...nay, vain...though oddly vain about some things and not others like toe nails, upper lip, or roots.....but, i digress).  i am obsessed with the hollows of my eyes and the wrinkles forming in b/w them. 

[readers: one silver lining > remind me to tell you the story of my perfect internal viscera]

in fact, there was a spell where i was convinced i had a double chin (my bro happily concurred with my concern at the time, so naturally i blame him for all of my insecurities... and my penchant for eating mass amounts of strawberry pop tarts under the cloak of darkness. but whatevs). 

 

not too long ago, my vanity got some much needed gratification when i got a bit of a pay raise. money i had set aside for... oh, i don't know... my lil peanut's education, the mortgage, or savings had somehow become re-branded as my "self preservation fund". i think i may have  explained my spending rationale to my hubby by stating something along the lines of "sheeeet, i earned that money. it's miiiiine. i should use it any way i damn well puhlease" followed by 2 finger snaps delivered in a circular fashion. so, with his roll of the eyes, i happily found myself consulting with a top surgeon a couple weeks ago about restylane (a filler) to fill out my eyes and refresh the skin (zip it those who know me).

at the start of the consultation, the oddly long island-esque top doc asked me a slew o' questions about my self perception. i kept it light and cracked a couple jokes. chirp, chirp. "nothing major, just a 'refreshment'." blah, blah, blah. could i BE more uncomfortable? just when i thought it could not get any worse, he preps me for his assessment of my features. he agrees (cha ching) with my desire to "refresh" my face with maybe some injections around the eyes...yadda yadda. however, he has some additional thoughts. without a seconds hesitation, he says, "well clearly your nose does not fit your face." my perfect jaw ( he did give me that at least) drops. 

he continues, "it has a bulbaceous quality that diminishes your other features." and yes "bulbaceous" is a word, cause i looked up immediately following the comfort eating binge post office visit. he doesn't even break a smile. all business. he's right mind you, but the nose was like 9 items down on the list of concerns (the fact that i have a penis even beat it out, being #5 on the list). 

 the rainmaker that he is, however, had no qualms calling it out. so naturally he lured my weak, insecure self into a software consultation. essentially, he takes pics and shows you a surgery-simulated before and after screen shot using a fancy pants software program. 

[pause]

next pay raise i will have a new nose. 

....and possibly be facing single motherhood. [sigh]

stay tuned about the injections. might divert my funds to operation: "bulbaceous removal". ok, now back to watching discovery health: "surgery before and after"....and eating a strawberry pop tart.

i hate the "mom card"

so this past thursday i resigned from my current employer. after 4 years of frankly kicking ass and rising through the ranks, i gave a heartfelt resignation speech to my boss (even broke my own record of never having cried in the workplace -- it should be noted i did start my flow the very next day). anyhoo, i have accepted a position with an agency about 10 minutes away as opposed to the current 45 min-1.5 hour commute. certainly that was a carrot. but more alluring is the role itself: big fish/small pond, entreprenuerial, part of top tier management, exciting creative, and the natural loft light make my eyes pop. awesome opportunity coupled with being ready for a big change made it the natural choice. so, now that i have resigned there is quite the buzz around the office. not only have i been here eons, but.....i am pretty fucking good at my job. so there is some spinning at the senior levels going on to keep the peace. what pisses me off is not that there is spinning, but what the spin message has become. certainly no one would officially leak that the reason of my departure is due to the fact that the work is stale and the agency is now a big political machine. but, rather than simply state that i am ready to move on to a different challenge, or a smaller agency, etc, (all that have worked very well for other sr. folks who have left in the past), they are pulling the "work/life balance" card: "kdawggyO has accepted a position at an agency much closer to home in order to spend more time with her family and find more manageable work/life balance." fuck that. i leave every gawt damn day when i need to leave in order to be home see my lil peanut eat dinner, read books, and get attacked with kisses. he gets bath, book, and bed all with my rapt attention. we are happy with the current arrangement. my ass is not sitting at my desk until all hours. i have set pretty substantial boundaries and am proud to have done so. my commute on the other hand blows. not just the timing, but the crush of either entitled or ruthless people who can NOT understand how to position their bodies in such a way as to allow more folks to get on the train. i feel like michael douglas in falling down. i am filled with r-a-g-e. if i have to body check one more chucklehead who blocks the door as i enter the train, i will become undone. further, i have to leave work about an hour earlier than i would like in order to have my lil peanut time. so, i am looking forward to not spending precious time on public transport with assholes. and, i am also looking forward to being able to actually spend more time at the office. yes, you heard right folks. more time at the office. this employment decision was not made as one to spend more time with my family. that time has not yet and will never be compromised. not one bit. so, let me be clear:

1. i want to be more effective and productive at work by being able to get 2-3 hours back
2. i want to commute less to avoid potential jail time
3. AND i love the opportunity this role promises

not only am i annoyed that the mom card is being played (mind you it is never played with men or childless women...ever), BUT it is setting a bad precedent for women here that are considering having kids. many women looking to have children look to me as a role model. they see i have set up boundaries and am successful at balancing my work/home time. when they hear this message they will feel fooled. they will feel it's a lie. that pisses me off. i worked too hard to let them down. needless to say, i have begun my own spinning campaign...toonces suckers.