The Poopetrator

My co-workers and I are going to a baseball game today. We're leaving in twenty minutes; those of us who even bothered to come into the office at all today. Most are "working from home" (cough cough) and will meet us there. Uh huh. My CEO is wearing crisp khakis and a bright orange polo-style shirt instead of his usual suit and tie and glossy shoes. I don't really know anything about baseball. I only know of Derek Jeter and A-Rod (whom I keep thinking is named "Axel" instead of "Alex") and I know the Giants aren't playing the Yankees today, so I won't even see Derek Jeter or A-Rod. And didn't Barry Bonds go to jail? Whatever. I have sunscreen, a big hat, Gucci sunglasses and a few trashy magazines; that ought to hold me. Anyhow, I'm not really writing about the baseball game outing, I'm justifying why I'm goofing off and writing my blog during the workday!

The wrong-est thing just happened. We work on the first floor of what looks like a big white house. There are two businesses upstairs. They get to their work by using stairs outside... it's not like they need to come down to the first floor for anything. I was in the bathroom (pee only) and someone came stomping into the bathroom. I saw boots under the stall door, which I thought odd since no one in my office wears those kind of boots. I thought maybe it was the letter carrier or DHL driver... Then I smelled poop! Then the person washed her hands (with our nice organic lavender soap!) and left. I ran out to see who it was, and saw someone going back upstairs. She works upstairs and came downstairs just to poop in our bathroom. Not only did she drop a turd in OUR bathroom, with its poop smell molecules, she used our fancy hand soap, that we take turns buying. We're a NONPROFIT, for God's sake; they're a FOR PROFIT. You go downstairs to the NONPROFIT to POOP, and use the soap provided for by the underpaid nonprofit employees. What a jerk! I really want to go up there and just walk into their office, see the woman and confront her... but MY coworkers think I'm nice, and we're supposed to be friendly with those people upstairs. There's a very nice transit center across the street with a very nice bathroom that's open to the public. She should really have some frickin decency and go poop over there! I try to do my business at home, personally. I don't feel my coworkers should have to be exposed to my solid waste. Coworkers have to deal with enough of each other as it is. The next time the Poopetrator comes downstairs, I will be waiting...

Modesty Panels, please.

It seems to be my lot in life to always work for "alternative" businesses. Start ups, dotcoms in their formative years (before they learn to conform to labor laws), non profits also in their early years, women owned cooperatives and vegetable companies run by a gaggle of people who have all been each other's lovers at various times in their histories... yet I've also worked for a monolithic school district, in which I was just a number (and hell, my number got transposed, resulting in my not having any reported income for a year), and for a huge cable company, but those were long ago. I say it's my lot in life, but of course, I've chosen to work where I have.

My latest gripe is that in my office (in its 6th year, and has only 12 full time staff), we work at weird, huge desks from a bygone era. Now I'm all for mid century modern antiques. These are not mid century modern antiques. They're ugly, huge, clunky veneer-covered desks like teachers or barristers or office people may have sat at in the early 80's. There are no height adjustments. There are no rounded corners. I don't have any drawers, for god's sake (no, I have a little Rubbermaid bin under my desk with all my office supplies in it). You can see our legs from the frontside, and if we were to let our legs fall slightly open, you could quite possibly see the crotches of our panties, in some cases, or just a fabric-covered crotch, in others. Either way-- CROTCH. There are no cozy little walls around us, no "modesty panels" as they are called in the office furniture industry, no surfaces to which you can tack or stick any of the papers you need to look at daily. One cannot slump, have any sort of a messy desk at all ("OH, WE NEED TO ZEN YOUR DESK!" bellowed by boss one day, pointing at my papers as if she were pointing at a pile of dog poop. As if "zen" is a verb for casual use in the Judeo Christian world... as if I am not the person in charge of reconciling our credit card bills and our petty cash, a task that involves the spreading out and deciphering and proper budgetary coding of many many receipts! As if I WANT to have a messy desk covered by everyone's receipts!)

To people who complain about working in cubicles, just know that there are office workers out here who are envious of your little cubicle, your modicum of privacy. There are workers who are envious of Dilbert, who long to be surrounded by some dull gray fabric, who long for a drawer in which to put their stuff, who long to chew their lunch without everyone else watching.

Supposedly, we are having some sort of office reorganization soon. I hope that involves a more ergonomic and productive set up, but I fear it simply means something like someone deciding to place all the printers and fax machines on my desk.

Happy Frickin' Thursday.

I have tomorrow off, as a comp day for my work weekend from Hell last weekend. Whee!

For today's blog post, I decided to show the most unflattering (and yet I find just it so funny) photo of me ever taken. This was a few years ago, and in my defense I will say that it was earlier than 7:00 am and I hadn't showered yet. Um, and feel free to donate to my haircut-and-styling products fund at any time!

The staff goes to a baseball game

Next Thursday, all my coworkers and I are going to a baseball game. We're not playing in the game, and no one we know is playing in the game... we're going to a professional baseball game. It's not that I don't like baseball... I like playing and I liked going to games when I was a high school teacher and the kids I actually knew were playing in the game, so I actually cared if they did well. I don't care about professional baseball and I haven't been to a professional baseball game since I was a child. My family used to go to Dodger games; the only things I remember are the name "Steve Garvey" and playing with a long red licorice rope the whole time, and being smeared with sunscreen by my mother at intermittent intervals.

Since I am fairly new on staff I don't know whether this decision to go on an outing was made before I landed there... I remember some discussion about what days were best for everyone. I'm a bit envious of my coworker who is off in Greece for a few weeks, not just because she's in Greece but because she gets to miss the game! Following the game is a barbeque at my boss' house. She has her good attributes, but she's a sarcastic, frequently high strung, more than occasionally micromanaging, self-described bitch. Yes, she's one of these people who revels in calling herself a bitch, and in embodying that state of being.

I could call in sick, but I've had a cold for a week and I called in sick last Tuesday and again this Monday, and another sick day would be excessive (and suspicious). I could also take a knitting project with me to the game, because everyone knows you can knit and watch TV or knit and talk, and presumably knit and watch a baseball game, but what about the barbeque? I could eat a hotdog early on in the day, not feel well, and leave with a stomachache (only to go to a nearby salon that I like a lot and get a manicure and pedicure!)... I'm a terrible actor and an unconvincing liar... just planning the ruse would give me a real stomachache. We're expected to RSVP for the barbeque today (she sent the invitation late yesterday)... what do I do?

Yummie Tummie vs. the muffin tops

I don't actually watch the Oprah Winfrey Show, because I don't actually own a television, but apparently She (Oprah) promoted a shapewear garment called Yummie Tummie on the show. I learned about Yummie Tummie while searching online for "long camisole" or "long tank"-- Yummie Tummie comes in regular length and long length, so my searching turned up this intriguing item. The basic idea is it's a tank top or camisole with regular cottony straps and about a three inch hem like any other cotton camisole or tank, but from right below your breasts to the cotton hem there's this thicker, opaque microfiber-and-lycra/spandex STUFF that holds in all your fat. It's main and most celebrated purpose is to squeeze the batter back into the muffin tops!
The muffin tops are the bulge of fat and skin that pop over the dent created by the waistband of low-rise, non-stretchy cotton denim jeans.

Of course I'd rather have my own built in yummy tummy made of muscle and sinew, but for now I figured I'd try a Tummie Tummie tank. I got mine in white, regular hip length. It's plenty long; I can't imagine needing the long length unless you have a really long torso or are very tall. It's hard to get into the thing, but once in, it feels pretty good. The best thing about it is it kind of helps you remember to stand straight and have good posture. It's also long enough to cover the muffin tops and allay any of the cool breezes around the middle that often result from jeans + average tight tee shirt or velour hoodie. (Not only did you bake up some muffin tops, but you also set them out on the windowsill to cool.) The downside is the top made me a little sweaty. It was kinda hot in there. I can also imagine it could be rather ungraceful trying to get out of that thing in semi-public in the locker room or in front of a lover. I still think I liked it enough to want a few more.

I got my Yummie Tummie from an online retailer of lingerie because the shipping was free, but in perusing Yummie Tummie's official site, I was struck by the similarily in the imagery, compared to that of Stila Cosmetics. Both use cute illustrations of women, of various hair and skin colors and hairstyles, but all with the same slim-curvy bodies and similar facial features. I think it's designed to say, "You women in our target market group come in different colors but you're all basically the same in that you're not as slim as these illustrations, but you COULD be, nor are you quite as pretty as the women in these illustrations, but you COULD be if you buy our products! And we're all just the same in that regard, which is why all these pictures actually look the same even though we've made a concerted effort to make them look sort of diverse!" Yay, and the whole marketing team does a toast with their Diet Cokes in hands. Well, it's better than nothing, nothing being the complete denial that people of color even exist, but it still just feels oh-so-chick-lit ish to me in a way that feels slightly over-played already.

I'm on hiatus while I'm working a hellish three day stint of 13 hour days! Update on Sunday!

Wall-E and Fat Equals

I saw the film Wall-E last night. The evening started out with a difficult telephone conversation with my father, in which I told him that I feel he and his parenting partner (don't know how else to describe the relationship. My sister's mother and my dad are not "together"--but they made a child and are raising her together) have consistently made it difficult for me to see my sister and to have a relationship with her.

The latest is she's in San Francisco for about five days. They didn't tell me this ahead of time (they never do), so whenever I DO find out she's here, I inevitably drop whatever plans I have and offer up my weekend in the hopes they can squeeze me into her schedule. I'm happy to, because I want to see her, it's just that they're so inconsiderate. I called her mother and asked if I could see her Saturday (tomorrow). She said something something about needed to get her back for the family dinner. What time? I asked. Five or six, she said. Okay, I can bring her back by five, I replied. What time can I pick her up? Her mother informs me that the child does not wake till 10:00 am. Okay, our visit is getting shorter and shorter by the minute. Oh, and I'm also informed that they don't have a car seat here. Mind you, my sister is SIX, and will be SEVEN in early October. The law says kids have to be in a car seat till they're six years old or sixty pounds. Never mind that the kid is so tall and lanky she's practically got a 30" inseam. Really? A car seat? Really?! Okay, I say to Baby Mama. I can come get her on the bus, or rent a car seat. But I'm just curious, how are you carting her around?
She laughs a little and replies that her sister has a car with a built in car seat. WTF?
The only thing that made the conversation even a little bit bearable was the fact that my sister got on the phone and asked if we could go to the beach by my house and whether I have any good sand toys. "We can go to the zoo, or the beach, or the TOY STORE," I say, slyly. "TOY STORE!" she screams, as I chuckle evilly and say goodbye.

Anyhow, I watched Wall-E wondering if it would be good to take my sister to see, too complicated, too violent, etc. In many ways it was a charming and wonderful film. In other ways-- not so much. The humans had ruined Earth and escaped on a luxury space cruise liner, and they floated around on comfortable seats; like hover-recliners. They didn't have to think about where they were going because they'd just get their seat onto a kind of speed track and everyone would speed along a path. They always had a big drink at hand, which looked like a Big Gulp or super-sized soda, with a big straw sticking out, which they'd suck on constantly. A holographic TV or computer screen floated in front of each person. Through this they could talk, watch news feeds, play virtual sports. They didn't walk, do any physical or mental work, and each person was fat. There were the usual fat-people pratfalls... falling over, can't get up. Huffing and puffing... out of breath. Trying to reach... can't quite reach... where a medium weight person would have been able to reach easily. It just seemed reductive and overly simplistic a vision to think that a whole society of people who are lazy, pampered, and not working would also be obese. They had all kinds of futuristic devices and ultra sophisticated robots, but no way to keep people or make people muscled, lean, etc? That's odd. I am not fat. It's not just fat people or fat activists who are bothered by this portrayal of fat characters. It made me feel uncomfortable and sort of embarrassed, as if I had a party and one of my guests said something rude to another guest. So my verdict is I wouldn't take my sister to see this movie. Maybe she'll catch the marketing fever and ask her parents if she can see it, but I'm certainly not going to suggest it. I love the sustainability piece of the film, but I wouldn't want my sister at such an impressionable age to think fat people are funny, to think lazy=fat, bored=fat, fat=hilarious. And one last bitch--the captain of the ship, while a cute character and one of the protagonists--was male and white. Hey, filmmakers. Way to push the envelope on that one. Pppffft.

Practical and Sturdy... kind of.

I need a new tote bag for work, one that is practical and sturdy (but, of course, also cute). My current tote bag is great, but it's natural-colored canvas, with leather trim and handles, which I associate with spring, and I've been carrying it since late March. Fortunately I've managed to keep the thing pretty clean, but I definitely need to put it away and rotate in something sturdier if I want to use this one again in subsequent springs.

Last weekend DD and I went shopping in Marin county, mostly because it was foggy all weekend here in San Francisco and I wanted to see the sun. I needed a demi cup bra for a new top I have, a very cute top but one which is cut lower than all my bras. Having acquired the bra, I was exiting the store when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw some leopard-ness with white leather trim. I came to a screeching halt and veered off toward the handbag department. (Of course they place the handbags and women's shoes near the doors.) All thoughts of a practical black, brown or cream leather tote bag flew out of my mind as I fell in love (in LOVE, I tell you) with the Dolce and Gabbana "Animalier" tote.

Thing is, I have a "thing" for leopard, a "thing" which has been suppressed for the past few years. For a while there, I had leopard everything and everywhere, even plastic pens, sticky notes, a cheapie wallet, several cheapie bags, shoes, socks, a lap blanket, a limited-edition Hello Kitty stuffed animal in a leopard suit (ok, I still have her and love her), a key, a hairdryer, and, at one point, before I lived with a man, my whole bedroom. I recognized the signs of addiction, or at least obsession. When you choose a leopard hairdryer that actually doesn't work as well as a regular black hairdryer simply because it's leopard... that's not the wisest choice. So I monastically scaled back my leopard purchases and when my leopard things wore out, didn't replace them with more leopard. My current leopard collection consists of underwear, one sweater, and the Hello Kitty in a leopard suit. I want the bag!!!
At $500 it's not outrageously expensive (not like I can get a $500 bag every week, but twice a year, maybe yes) but if I splurge on it, I still won't have a practical bag for work that goes with all my clothes. Pffffft.