What Kind of Monster Hates Babies?!

Bossman has finally done it - he's convinced me that he is indeed a monster, not a human at all. Today was the day that one of the staff, who has been on extended maternity leave since November 1 (she gave birth right around Thanksgiving) was going to come to work to visit and bring the baby. She announced she was three months pregnant at a meeting a few days after I'd started working there. She's in her early 40's and has only been married for two years... apparently it was kind of looking as though the husband and kid thing just wasn't going to happen for her... and then it happened, after some rounds of eHarmony. She's an attractive lady, and very sweet. She was one of my four bosses and I didn't enjoy her work style or enjoy working with her, but she was nice enough, and it was fun to see her pregnancy progress. We threw her a little work shower, and it's been fun to see the baby in photos. Anyhow, today was the first time she was going to visit the office and show us the baby.

Bossman, BossLady, the third person I support, whom I'll call The Nutty Professor, and one of my co-workers were in a meeting in the Bossman's office, which adjoins the main room of the "house" we work in. I work right outside Bossman's office. About 15 minutes before the new mom was to arrive, Bossman came out of the meeting and told me not to interrupt them for her; they didn't want to see her. Mind you, she's on the staff. We haven't seen her since October 31. She gave birth. We haven't seen the baby.
She CALLED ME AND ASKED ME WHAT THEIR CALENDARS LOOKED LIKE so she could be sure to see everybody! I was stunned by what he was saying, and asking me to do. I mean, as an Executive Assistant I have to be some kind of gatekeeper blocking solicitors from my executives like they're friggin Madonna or President Obama. I understand that; I have no qualms about it. But telling my co-worker that these people can't be bothered to see her after all these months, and meet her baby?! Or worse, pretending that they're not in there (when you can clearly hear them talking inside his office). That's over the top. My soul is worth more than my paycheck, and I did not intend to burn in Hell for doing something that mean and nasty. I finally decided to just avoid it altogether. I greeted the new mom when she arrived and saw the baby, who was just waking up and was totally adorable, and after we chatted I just walked outside and went down to a cafe for a beverage.

I later learned from my co-worker who was in the meeting that there was an actual discussion among those in the meeting about whether they would deign to come out of their meeting and meet the baby. BossLady stated that she hates babies, Bossman agreed (he has two adult sons), and my co-worker apparently turned red in the face because she too doesn't like babies, but didn't want to agree with BossLady. Bossman then told her she was red in the face, at which point she admitted she dislikes babies. The Nutty Professor, who has a three year old, said, "You guys..." but that was about it.

Okay, what kind of people don't like babies?! I can see not wanting to have one... I don't want to have one. I can see not wanting to have to take care of one for, say, eight hours. But seriously, who can possibly object to a quick three minute interaction with a baby, while the parent is present and if the baby poops their diaper or starts crying the parent will take care of it? I mean, that is just like taking a happy pill, right? Kittens, puppies, rainbows, flowers and babies are inarguably cute, happy, joyful things, right?! Honestly, Bossman and BossLady (hates babies and has a black cat: you do the math...) have convinced me once and for all that they are demon spawn.

God told Miley to Do It

Miley Cyrus (about the fact that people are upset that a photo of her pulling her eyes back and making "slant eyes" is circulating around the Internet):


“I’ve also been told there are some people upset about some pictures taken of me with friends making goofy faces! Well, I’m sorry if those people looked at those pics and took them wrong and out of context!

“In NO way was I making fun of any ethnicity! I was simply making a goofy face. When did that become newsworthy?

“It seems someone is trying to make something out of nothing to me. If that would of [sic] been anyone else, it would of been overlooked! I definitely feel like the press is trying to make me out as the new ‘BAD GIRL’!”

“I feel like now that Britney is back on top of her game again, they need someone to pick on! Lucky me! haha Anyway, I just wanted to let you guys know what is on my heart. You guys know me and have been by my side every step of the way!

“You guys know my heart and know the most important things to me are my friends, family, fans, and GOD! In NO WAY do I want to disappoint any of you! But, when I have made mistakes in the past, I feel like I’ve owned up to them and apologized.”

“I really wish everyone would stop focusing on my personal life and get back to focusing on what I love! Music and Acting! Hopefully, I will be touring again this fall! Yayy! =] It will be a nice change to be back out on the road again!”

Lord. It's time for someone to go back into her Star Wagon, sit down with the tutor and crack open the history book. The exaggeration of Asian eye shape has long been used to demonize and dehumanize Asian people. It has a historic context, like the N word. Asian caricatures with small slanted eyes were circulated in American newspapers and helped establish Japanese Americans as "different" - different enough to round up and put into internment camps during WWII.
Get a clue!

20-25

Well, I went to my check up today and they say my vision is 20/25! Prior to my surgery it was 20/400. Definitely worth the money and the alien-abduction experience! I'm thrilled, so far.

Abducted by aliens.

An hour and a half ago I had Lasik eye surgery. I'm supposed to keep my eyes closed for 4-6 hours. My eyes are closed right now, actually. DD is typing for me as I dictate. This is awesome. I think I could probably finally write my novel if we did this all the time.
Before I had this procedure I talked to several people who had had the procedure before, as well as reading about it on the internet. Everybody says something different about what it's like. One person said, "It's no big deal. It's so easy!" One person said his brother said his eyes were numb the whole time -- he didn't feel anything. One person told me her eyes were in actual pain afterward for several hours. And one lady who actually works at the surgeon's office described the sensation as, "Having your eyeballs sucked." That was worrisome.
They offered me a Valium. At the time, I was feeling perfectly calm and declined. But an hour later, after lots of tests had been done and pictures of my eyeballs taken and I was led into a room and told to lie down on this inverted thing with a circle for my head I started getting nervous and wished I had taken the Valium. A few minutes later when they started TAPING MY EYELASHES TO MY EYELIDS I really wished I had taken the Valium. The next thing I knew they pivoted my head under this crazy, futuristic, space-age looking laser thing and I suddenly realized that it was exactly like this recurring dream I have in which I'm being abducted by aliens and the aliens are getting ready to do some examinations/experiments on my eyes. The doctor then inserted some things into my eyes to hold them open (I don't know what they were; I don't even want to know) and at some point he told me there would be some pressure on my eye and there was, which freaked me out so much I thought I was going to throw up. The next thing you know, everything went black, presumably when he was cutting a flap in my cornea sooooooo freaky. Then, I was instructed to look at this light while they lasered my eye. Then I started having a déjà vu which was really freaky and which probably indicates I was abducted by aliens at some point... I did grow up in the desert... it was very rural... there were many drunken, unaccounted for evenings spent with friends or staggering around under the influence of tequila. Next came the smell of my own burning eye-flesh which was disgusting and somewhat embarrassing much like a fart. At this point, I told the doctor, "I'm really sorry you have to smell my eye burning. That's really gross." He then told me that that's why he wears a mask and also that there is a suction thing near my eye sucking most of the smoke away. Sooooo gross.
This whole process was repeated on the other eye and it was just as gross. Now I'm home sitting here with my eyes closed. So this is what Lasik is really like, no Pollyanna bullshit... It's gross, you smell your own flesh burning, weird stuff is being done to your eye and you might flashback to the time you were abducted by aliens. All I have to say is: 1) I could've bought a lot of clothes for $4600.
2) I really hope that when I wake up tomorrow I'll be able to see perfectly, it will be like a miracle, and worth it.

Mom Jeans

My friend Katty recently got a pair of "Not Your Daughter's Jeans" brand jeans. She purchased them at Nordstrom. I'm a fan of Paige Premium Denim, and was explaining to her that Paige Premium Denim comes in "plus" sizes at Nordstrom, so she went over there, but instead of getting the Paige jeans, she got these Not Your Daughter's Jeans.
For one thing, they're about half as expensive. For another, they have some kind of "tummy tuck" technology built in, and thirdly, they have a 9 inch rise! Katty, whom I consider rather fashion-challenged (and she knows this about herself and she knows I agree with her), then went home, looked up the jeans online and realized they are indeed "mom jeans", and heavily marketed that way. (Above is some of Not Your Daughter's Jeans' imagery.) Duh! They're not called "Not Your Daughter's" for no reason.
She then freaked out and wrote me a hilarious email. There's no turning back, though... she's already having them hemmed.

I can't wait to see them, actually. I've never seen Katty in well-fitted, good-quality denim and I'm rather excited. I now also want to try on the Mom Jeans just for fun. At my height and with my proportions, the 9" rise will probably come up to my armpits.

Ella Moss Outlines Your Ta-tas

Yesterday while at an unglamorous work event my coworker Krystal and I saw some signs announcing "Huge Sample Sale". We hightailed it over there. Inside, they were selling Ella Moss, BCBG and Splendid. Krystal had never been to a sample sale before.

I love Ella Moss, but on my non-profit admin salary and at at least $100 a top, I usually only get one Ella Moss top per season. Here, they were selling samples for $35 - $39 each. I only found two tops I wanted to try on, though, and although I loved one of them, it was open all the way down the back, therefore has to be worn without a bra, which rules out wearing it to work or in any temperatures below, say, 72 degrees. (Unless one was to wear some kind of pasties or those nipple covers they sell that are called "Lowbeams".

I saw this top at the sample sale. This looks like someone took a black Sharpie and literally drew around the breasts. "LOOK, here are my BREASTS!" it seems to scream.
I thought this top was bizarre.

What was also bizarre was the dressing area of the sample sale. Now, sample sales are pretty basic affairs. They have great stuff but it's all just on those basic metal rolling garment racks and usually in some empty rented space. It's certainly no department store or boutique experience. There's not always a dressing area, although they often set one up with mobile screens, mirrors, etc. This sample sale was particularly haphazard, with cheap full=length mirrors propped here and there that still had their price stickers and some cardboard descriptor on them "FULL LENGTH MIRROR $12.99" and such. One end of the dressing area was visible from the street.
There were women prancing about in their raggedy, unmatching underthings with ill- fitting thongs burrowing up their butts. Krystal and I, being a bit more modest, kept to our own side of the dressing area and kept our pants on while trying on dresses.
I nodded toward the other women and told Krytal that's why I always tell her to wear nude thong panties under boyshorts and a nude camisole when going shopping. You never know when you're going to need to avoid the dressing rooms, or not find dressing rooms, and want to try things on semi-publicly!

We ended up buying nothing. Such is the way of sample sales: they're hit-or-miss. We certainly both passed on the Boob Outline top, despite the nice price.

The Candy Dish

There's nothing more amusing at a dull job than setting out a candy dish and watching ones coworkers. It's way more fun than trying to keep a desk plant healthy in the artificial office light, more fun than killing a betta or goldfish softly in some inadequate office fishbowl. When I worked at a dot.com a few years ago, I sat next to the candy dish person, who actually was on Weight Watchers, was overweight, and who seemed to derive great pleasure from watching people come to her candy dish. Actually, it was a whole candy drawer. There was a drugstore across the street, and she would go and buy several bags of fun-sized candy bars and dump them with pleasure into her file drawer. It was fun to see the dieters come to the drawer and apologize or make excuses for taking candy, to which Ms. Weight Watchers would reply in this smug, purring voice, "That's what it's there for... enjoy..."

At my previous workplace, I started the candy experiment, but it didn't last long. For one thing, I had to buy organic chocolate, because we were selling organic vegetables and that was our mission. I bought a display box of these mini chocolate squares, which was something like $25. The CEO, whose office was closest to my workspace, wiped the whole thing out within a few days. The funny thing was that she wouldn't talk to me, make eye contact, or anything. She would just glower, come over, snatch some squares and storm away. No exaggeration - I quickly realized that not only could I not afford to keep this woman-beast in chocolate, no one else was getting any of it. I abandoned the candy experiment.

When I started my current job, I started the candy dish again. I started with spicy, chewy ginger candies from GingerPeople, because I like those and they kind of serve the same purpose after lunch as a breath mint. Interestingly, one of the women there, whom I considered a borderline anorexic, liked the ginger candies. She would come by, give me a small smile and sometimes a sad little shrug, and take a candy. She would always dig around a little in the dish before selecting one, which was interesting, because they were all the same.

I started giving other candy to see what else she would eat. Turns out she would eat Starbursts and other sour, fruity candy, but not the cheap chocolate. However, my boss LOVES cheap chocolate, and when I first offered mini Twix she said, "Oh my God. I LOVE TWIX. LOVE THEM," in the same tone one might use when saying, "Oh my God. I love Cristal. Love it". I mean, wow. It's just a Twix.

I love the people who have to tell me a little story or a reason when they take candy.
"For the ride home," or "I just need a little something" are both common. People have a lot of food issues. The normal people come by maybe once every few days and take a piece without comment and just go away and eat it. These normal people are also the same ones who occasionally contribute a bag of candy themselves to the dish. The freakish people are the ones who eat candy all day, or the one who complains bitterly about her weight, makes self-deprecating comments about her body at awkward moments (such as in an all-staff meeting), berates one of the thin girls for working out several times a week (every night she tries to talk this girl out of going to her "outdoor boot camp"), and eats tiny frozen South Beach Diet or Lean Cuisine meals.
She comes to my candy dish and inevitably says something strange like, "I really hate you" while taking candy. It's all very fascinating.

When Bra Straps Fail

Every so often, it's good to go and be "properly fitted" for a bra. Personally, I like the women who work at Nordstrom. In my experience, they're no-nonsense and they don't sugarcoat anything. As much as it hurts, it was important for me to hear that I'm an A cup, shattering my delusions of B-cup grandeur. This was proclaimed as a salesperson cocked her head to the side and said, "See that gap between the bra and your skin? That's because the CUPS ARE TOO BIG and that means you're not getting the right support." She proceeded to pack me into smaller and smaller bras till we settled on one with SUPPORT and PADDING. Meanwhile, in the dressing room next to me, another customer was whining, "But this feels really tight..." as she tried on a new bra, to which her salesperson replied, "That's because your old bra is all stretched out, so it feels really comfortable to you, but it's not really giving you the right support." Snap. I learned a lot of things in the Nordstrom lingerie dressing room: that if your straps fall down, you're not getting the right support and the band that goes around your back is doing all the work... that lace is pretty and all but ultimately you need some smooth bras or it will look like you have a rash when you wear tee shirts... that you have to try every bra on because one manufacturer's sizing is different from another's.

My current favorite everyday bra is the push up iBra by Wacoal. As much as I hate this name (at first I thought it was a bra with some kind of special pocket for your iPod), I love the bra. It's smooth, padded, tagless ("tagless" is another lingerie salesperson word that means there are no itchy tags inside the bra), comfortable and gives an awesome silhouette.

Home Sweet Home

For a while now, my coworker has been buying a house. She's a single (divorced) woman in her late-late 40's and she's a director at a non-profit. We have a staff of about 15 and four of them are directors. I actually think our organization is extremely top-heavy, leaving just four of us to support all these executives who don't know how to use their phones and who think the garbage disposal is a trash compactor. I am now Executive Assistant to THREE people, in addition to doing all the shmutz that the Marketing Director was doing before she left to have a baby, being the benefits administrator, and answering endless questions from a receptionist whom we hired because... well, she's never been a receptionist before, and the other day asked me, "What are binder clips?" so I'm still pondering why we hired her. I like her, though. She's cheerful and nice, and has taken several crap-tastic duties from me, such as "reconciling the petty cash" and "going to the bank to make the deposit." Things are going smoothly so I don't have any real complaints right now. It's just that working 8:00 ish - 5:30 in a small office just sometimes feels like a movie or TV show ABOUT an office, where the thing that makes the show funny is that it's the characters on the show that are experiencing the ridiculous situations, not you, the viewer. Well, it's like I'm IN one of those shows, and the show doesn't end in an hour or half an hour, and the joke, or the frustration, or the ridiculousness is on me.

But I digress. This woman has been buying a house (and we know allll about it because we've heard allllll about it, every step of the way, no details spared). I'm happy for her... I just wish she's buy it and have a housewarming party already so I can enjoy her success and you know, have a drink. So yesterday she comes to the front office area where I work and announced to those of us who work there (none of us there own a house) that she's now officially a homeowner. My coworker Krystal, who was grumpy, had not eaten and who had just taken six straight hours of notes in a meeting looked up, smiled weakly and said, "That's great... congratulations!" and I screeched, "YAYYYY!!!! and threw my paper napkin up in the air. I told her had I known it was going to be official that day I would have gotten shreds ready to toss all over her.

Sometimes I look at her and wonder what she'd look like with a nose job, and I also wonder why, if she can afford a house, why she's not already gotten a nose job. And I'm not just being sour, shallow and bitchy, although I acknowledge that I am in part being sour, shallow and bitchy. I realize this is why she owns a house and I throw my money away on rent... because my priorities are screwed and because I'd rather get a nose job than save for a house.

Well: home sweet home.

Homage to Flylady

For two and a half years I have been following the advice of Flylady, an online organization coach whose system helps you get your shit together, like get your house super clean and organized and even eat better and have more money. The system is free; you just join a mailing list and receive several instructional emails daily.

It's rather difficult to explain, but a lot of people are really into it; it has a cult following! The Flylady is the very encouraging, kind woman who lives in the South; she's in her 50's (I think this because her husband is retired), and she's just this very sweet, unassuming woman who tells you to take "baby steps" and she has a lot of cute phrases like, "Purple Puddles" and "reboot your laundry". She also calls exercise "loving movement" and tells people to get 15 minutes of Loving Movement per day.

DD and I have been following the Flylady off and on (I'd say more on than off) since sometime in 2006, and I daresay her system works! My apartment is pretty much always presentable, our laundry is never overwhelming, and my closet is color coded. I paid off a large debt and am getting laser eye surgery without having gotten a raise. It's kind of amazing, actually, because it all happens through a series of what she calls "baby steps" so you never really know the point at which your life changed, you just look up two years later and it's changed! So, I owe a big thanks to Flylady!

The latest is I finally got a pair of sneakers to wear inside the house only. This may sound crazy, like why not just wear your shoes inside and out, or why not just take off your shoes and go around in your socks if you want your floors to stay really clean? The idea is that you should do housework wearing clothes and shoes so you don't hurt yourself and so your body is supported and energized. But you might not want to wear your outdoor shoes inside, since you're keeping your house really clean, so you need a good pair of shoes that you only wear inside. I've always thought this was one of Flylady's stranger ideas, but since all her other ideas have worked so well for us, I finally got DD and me both the indoor sneakers. So far, it's just kind of funny wearing them, and feels a little silly, but I think I'll like it soon!

The Party's Over

I returned to work today. I survived, but by 10:00 am I had a headache running down the center and back of my head like a Mohawk hairstyle.

The 12 Days of Christmas

For the first holiday season in YEARS, years I tell you, I had Time Off. Paid Time Off! Some years ago I worked at a school and therefore had time off for winter break, but I had to do lesson planning and paper grading and all of that. Then I had some jobs involving selling things online at companies whose names ended in dotcom, so of course Christmas was the busiest time and we got Christmas day off but were selling stuff up till the 24th (and having to tell people, "NO, if you order today on December 24th and pay for overnight shipping, we can't actually get this item to you TOMORROW... why? Because it's Christmas... yes, I've heard of Zappos... yes... I know they get your shoes to you in one day... but I guarantee your shoes are not coming on Christmas day... fine, well, just call them and try to get a dildo from Zappos... thanks, goodbye, Merry Christmas to you, too."

Then I went to work for a vegetable company for about two years. People don't stop eating on holidays; in fact, people eat MORE, and need lots of sweet potatoes and russet potatoes and yellow onions other things that come in 50-pound boxes, and everyone needs to Pitch In to Keep Our Company Running during the holiday food-fest.

In 2008 I started working at a school, and not as a teacher, but as an Admin. The school's "admin offices" shut down between December 24th and Jan 4th. I had 12 whole days off, with pay! Even though I've had a cold for a full two weeks, it's been HEAVEN. I organized my closets, went to the library and read some novels, threw a small New Year's Eve party during which 8 people consumed 7 bottles of champagne, watched every episode of "Heroes" that has been released to Netflix so far, went for some walks, had a few shopping adventures, and did not much else.

I return to work tomorrow... the realization of which I'm not dealing with very well!

Merry Hot Aloholic Beverages

At our last session of calligraphy for the year, my teachers served coffee and apple cider, as they often do, but this time it was served with a bottle of Tuaca and a bottle of someone's homemade slivovitz, which is apparently a type of plum brandy. Very exciting, and very funny, since calligraphy demands a rather concentrated eye and a steady hand. I'd never had Tuaca before, which is an Italian brandy with vanilla and orange flavors, and I loved it. I loved it so much that I had it in hot chocolate during my lunch break at the bar across the street from my work, and I also had a shot of it alongside a cup of black tea at brunch the other day.

Here's my calligraphy teacher's apple cider mixture:

Add a shot of Tuaca to a mug of hot apple cider. Garnish with a cinnamon stick. Top with a generous glob of real whipped cream.

It's delicious, and tastes like apple pie with ice cream.
Happy, merry holidays!

"Belinas" by Kate Spade. Don't tell Bolinas.

Kate Spade has a new bag style called "Bellinas" which at first didn't register with me, till I started reading the blurb that describes the bag on the Kate Spade website.
It begins,"Just outside of San Francisco, rickety farm stands and bucolic woodlands have made Belinas a sought-after small-town sanctuary for haute ex-hippies and the eco-minded affluent." That was unintentionally hilarious and somewhat apt, for one thing, and the cherry on top of the sundae of weirdness is that they mispelled "Bolinas." What the hell?

New Yorkers.

text of ad

Fun with the Enneagram at Work

We have a new Staff Development "expert" at work. She is apparently supposed to develop us, the staff, and I'm told she has a ton of
soft skills, whatever soft skills are. I'm not sure what she's doing. First, I had a meeting with her during which we talked about my job and how I'd also absorbed a part-time job that was posted plus half of another woman's job when she went on maternity leave, leaving me with my first full time job and two part time jobs, meaning I am essentially doing two full time jobs. As always, when dealing with work discussions that are framed like "friendly, open conversations", I was cautious and guarded, while at the same time smiling and nodding my head a lot. I'm no fool. There is no free therapy with no strings attached at work.

That was my only interaction with her until she informed me that she would be taking over the explanation of benefits, which is my part of the orientation process for new staff, as I am the benefits administrator. We hired someone new (that's another post entirely) and Mrs. Soft Skills did her thing. The next day, she came to me and told me she tried to explain the benefits to this new person and realized she didn't know what she was talking about. I wanted to laugh and say, "Ya think?!" but instead I made what I think was an empathetic face and said, "No problem... I'll go over the benefits with her today."

The third thing she, um, accomplished was having everyone on staff take an Enneagram test, which is a personality test by which you find out which of nine personality types you are. This is supposed to help you work better with others, and it might, if anyone had actually revealed their type. Everyone was acting as though this was highly confidential information and was going to reveal some sort of personal secrets about them. (No, really? You're a perfectionist and you make everyone miserable in your quest for what you think is perfection? No!!! We never would have guessed!) So when the enneagram expert got to his discussion of Type 8 and revealed that this is his type, I also revealed that this is my type. I explained to my coworkers that I got into fistfights as a child (okay, I left out the fistfights I've gotten into since turning old enough to vote) and saw Mrs. Soft Skills staring at me literally with her mouth hanging open, which was kind of funny.

There are many enneagram sites, and usually you have to pay to take the full test, but this one has a short version of the test which will tell you your type.

White Elephants II

I think White Elephant gifts are lame. I'm just so tired of the whole Dilbert-like life I'm leading at work. I refuse to play the game again this year. I'm not going out and thinking about my coworkers and trying to pick a gift they could all like, or even trying to pick a gift with one person in mind and manipulating the game so that that special person takes my gift. Or worse... trying to be the person who brings the most CLEVER gift. White elephant gift exchanges are only fun if they people at the party are fun and quirky, or ironic, or silly. And I'm just not, and they are even less so than I!

The most effort I'm willing to put into this is looking around my house for all the new, unopened items that could be given as my White Elephant gift contribution and assessing them, and that's what I did tonight.

1) a package of three pairs of little girls underpants from GAP Kids which were supposed to be for my 7 year old sister to wear after she got wet at the beach but that our father objected to because they had the word "hipster" on the package

2) a pair of yellow Hue brand tights still in their packaging that I can't even remember buying

3) 2 pairs of Wally's Ear Candles

4) an unopened giant roll of Contact Paper brand shelf liner (DD dares me to do it, is offering me $100 cash if I wrap that up and use it as my white elephant gift. He does not think I have the balls.

5) a huge, unopened bottle of Bailey's Irish Cream, that states "Best Before 09.08."

White Elephant Time

It's White Elephant Gift time of year. 2006 department party--we had a supposed $20 upper limit. One of my coworkers arrived with a really nice cutting board, which was valued at much more than $20, but she'd gotten it on sale and double-marked-down or whatever, and got it for $20. The strange thing was, she really wanted to win it herself, or manipulate the game so that she ended up taking the same thing home that she'd brought. That was totally weird... my boss' gift was a bottle of Veuve Cliquot ($49) which made the rest of us look like crappy cheap bitches. Somehow I ended up with the "Summer Cocktails Recipes" book. Um, no.

(Cut back to 2005... my gift was three pairs of those crazy fuzzy chenille socks from Nordstrom, two cute colors, like pink and blue, and one black pair. I forgot there was one guy on the team, a part timer. He got my gift, unfortunately, although the socks were obviously not exactly unisex in design. In fact I think there was a cartoon of some girl on the label. Cut to drunken coworkers suggesting he wear the socks on his penis.)

2007- Again with the Veuve Cliquot... only this time, I actually won it. Nevermind that it was wrapped furoshiki style in someone's rather gross old white shawl. Of course, the champagne was taken from me, leaving me with a thing that props a bottle of red wine up to breathe. Goddamn.

Morgan Bag by Monica Botkier

While walking out of Nordstrom the other day (I really was trying to walk OUT) time stood still and music swelled as I spotted this bag. Closer inspection revealed that this thing is made of super soft, crackly leather and feels nice to hold. I put it back, albeit reluctantly, and managed to back away, but there's always the Botkier website.

When the Internet Goes Awry

Someone told me that someone else invited them to yet another social networking website, only this one requires affluence.

Their stance line is,
"Make Life Better
The exclusive oragnaization of the world's wealthiest people."

Yes, they really did spell "organization" that way!

The Devil Wears Gray Cashmere Part II

For whatever reason, boss-lady (I have two bosses - boss-man and boss-lady) received this fancy Barbie doll as a gift the other day. I assume it's from a business partner who deals with the doll. It was strange to see it propped up in her rather stark, undecorated office. She's a battle axe who wears only gray and black and who disdains such things as rainbows, cupcakes, the color pink and ice skating. She's so vehement in her disdain for all things fun, fluffy, feminine and girly that I can only think she 1) was denied them as a child and is pretending to herself that she doesn't care 2)stopped maturing in middle school and is stuck in a pre-teen rebellion forever or 3) is just plain evil. It's fine to not like those things; it's another to profess it so passionately. It's like she's working very hard at carving out her identity as this elegant, steely, heart-of-darkness person, and working at it at every opportunity.

I could tell she liked the Barbie, and whenever I catch her liking something she's not supposed to like, I rub it in, with salt. Like the time it was her birthday and she told me "no cupcakes and shit", but when I caught her eating a mini cupcake at someone else's work birthday thing I screamed, "A MINI cupcake!? How CUTE!" So I gushed over the Barbie doll and then told her, "But of course, you're going to give it away... you hate that stuff." She then admitted that she liked Barbie as a child. Then she said she wished it wasn't blonde. The way she said blonde, you'd expect her to be a woman of color, or at least a dark white lady. No, she's a pale white lady with light brown hair and hazel eyes... not exactly even a brunette.