April 27, 2011
Happy Administrative Poor-fessionals Day!
Let's all celebrate our inner Joan Holloways and make someone in the office cry!
"Connie, you had better bring me some goddamn coffee, or I will sharpen my pencil in your cootchie."
You know what I love about Administrative Professionals' Day? Not a damn thing. I hate that I am old enough to remember when it was still called Secretaries' Day. I hate the bitter disappointment that inevitably comes with it. And I hate that no one is going to give me a Joan Holloway Barbie.
I mean, my God -- if any human being ever came close to Barbie's actual proportions, it's our Joanie!
At work, I continue to be underwhelmed by Vy's warmth and friendliness. She refuses to fawn over how awesome I am. I just wanna shake her by the shoulders and say, "Don't you know who I am?! Every executive in the building would give their eye teeth to have me!"
I guess I'm just not used to working for someone who plays absolutely everything so close to the vest. And my reaction is downright pathetic. I hang on every smile, every chuckle, every teensy inquiry as to how my weekend went. I'm considering asking PhD Boss to pass her a note during study hall.
Do you like Wenchie?
___Yes ___No ___Kinda
Gag me with a spoon. The final decision being that, yes, they are posting my job, and yes, I am going to have to interview for it.
Well... I guess I don't have to. I could just tell them to suck it. Walk outta there Jerry McGuire style.
WHO'S COMIN' WITH ME?!
I'll bet I could get at least one person.
But worse than no adoration at all would be the perfunctory #1 Administrative Assistant coffee mug, or flowers obviously purchased at Jewel on the way to work. Although a mug of coffee purchased on the way to work would be nice...
People, if you are lucky enough to have made the decisions in your life that led you to have a support staff person, be awesome to them today. Yes, I know. They get paid. It's their job. They should have finished college instead of dropping out to become a full-time waitress because they didn't want to have to keep seeing their stalker ex-boyfriend in the halls of the local community college.
But remember, we work their asses off, too, and we, most always, get zero respect. And we are awesome people who do a hundred things a day for you that you aren't even aware of, and then go home and do a hundred awesome things you're even less aware of.
Best gift you could give us? Hand us a twenty, tell us to buy ourselves lunch, and you'll see us tomorrow morning. Because that's what we really want. Time off, and not to have to eat lunch with you.
And fellow poor-fessionals -- buck up, little soldiers. You know I love you. And if you can't find it within yourself to channel some Joan today, remember that Jane Hathaway is also perfectly... adequate.
April 13, 2011
Ch-Ch-Ch-Change
I think Husband's crotch is magnetized. And I say this because the man accumulates pocket change at a rate that defies any other explanation. How many cash purchases can a man possibly make in one day?! Is he playing the saxaphone, badly, in the subway for loose change?
So when I do laundry every week, I empty out his pockets (because, no, I have not been successful in training him to do this himself) and put the change in a pretty pottery jar on our kitchen counter. And once a month, I empty the pretty pottery jar of change into a big, yellow, plastic tumbler. And twice a year, I take the tumbler to the bank and dump it into the coin counting machine and deposit thirty to fifty dollars into our auxilary bank account.
(Essentially, this is how we are paying for Older Step Daughter's wedding.)
Today was the day I was going to go to the bank after work. I put the very-full tumbler in the beverage holder next to me and drove to work quite uneventfully. However, I didn't want to just leave the cup there for the whole day.
It's like, "Hello, petty thieves! Please break into my car and do five hundred dollars worth of damage for thirty dollars of change!"
I don't think so. So I put the cup behind the passenger seat, where no one would see it because our back windows are tinted. You see where this is going, don't you? Uh-huh.
When Padawan and I went to lunch, I pulled out of my parking space, put the car in drive, and... SCHLINGGGGGGGGGGGGG! The pretty, tinkling sound of change spilling all over the floor of the back seat of my car.
Shit.
Well, I wasn't about to stop and waste precious lunch minutes picking up change, so I just drove to the deli and listened to the puddle of change spread ever farther each time I turned a corner, braked or accelerated. A constant reminder of my non-existant short-term memory.
I was too disheartened by my own stupidity to go to the bank after work, so I went home and had some chocolate, in order to steel myself for what had to be done. I found an old dog treat container -- with a lid -- and leaned into the back of the car, treating all my neighbors to the sight of my fat, yoga-pants-clad ass.
"Hello, commuters getting off the train and walking home! Please enjoy the cotton-and-spandex goodness of -- almost literally -- the junk in my trunk!"
I put all the change in an empty dog treat container -- with a lid. Did I mention that?
Moral of the Story
Buy a car so that you don't have to take the train home and get off at the stop by my house and be subjected to the vision of my butt sticking outta my car. You'll thank me later. (What -- you thought I was going to caution you again driving with a huge open container of coins?)
April 01, 2011
Cute Headband
You guys, I have a new crush! Her name is Sasha.
(And now my Mom is thinking, "For Pete's sake, can't she ever have a crush on a boy?!)
(And Heather is thinking, "I will cut this bitch." Heather, my love, don't worry -- they are all but fleeting trifles. You know I ruv you.)
And here's where it gets kinda creepy: She works with Husband. She's the receptionist. I know, right?! You're all thinking, "Haven't I seen this porno...?" Okay, maybe Mom isn't thinking that.
I met her at Husband's Work Christmas Party, which I wasn't quite as upset about going to this time because I knew there would be people there older and less hip than I, so it wasn't nearly as intimidating as previous parties filled with glittering twenty-somethings who thought of me as their ancient boss' ancient wife.
Anyhoo, my go-to ice breaker with anyone, if my head is a blank and I can't think of one goddamn intellegent thing to say -- which is so, so often in these situations -- is to compliment a person on something they're wearing. Of course, it has to be sincere. The boss' ancient wife does not kiss subordinate ass. But if I like something, I say so, and it's usually good for enough conversation to make me seem adequately social.
First thing I noticed on Sasha was her super-cute headband. Big, grey flower with a rhinestone or something. Just the kind of thing I wish I were bold enough to try.
So I told her, "Cute headband!"
And she launched into something like, "Thanks! I had nearly given up at Macy's when I saw it. I thought it was so cute, I bought three. Christmas presents! I wore it tonight because my wrap doesn't really match my dress, so I'm trying to deflect attention from all that. Look! Cute headband!"
See? How could I not fall in love with that?! Accessory deflection is a way of life for me (said the girl who just finished painting her nails eggplant)! I was smitten. And she bakes! And she eats! And yeah, she's a glittering twenty-something, but she thinks I'm cool!
I know this because I had the following conversation with Husband a few days after the party:
PW: Sasha is so adorable. I totally have a crush on her.
H: Yeah, she likes you, too.
PW: What? How do you know?!
H: 'Cuz she said so.
PW: Oh my God! You didn't tell her that I have a crush on her, did you?!
H: No.
PW: What did you say exactly?
H: I don't know.
PW: Well, what did she say?
H: She thinks you're cool.
PW: WHAT?! WHAT ELSE?!
H: I don't know!
Men so suck at being women.
Sasha and her bi-racial friend Misha were the two people I talked to most during drink and appetizers. So I figured that I'd just sit with them during dinner, right?
Wrong. The Office Food Chain kicked in, and I had to sit with two of the other managers and their wives. I'm a manager's wife! Uck! I have to sit with all the older women and listen to them talk about their kids and the summer homes. Vomit!
Actually, the women I sat next to was pretty cool, and I really like her. I would probably not even mind hanging out with her and her husband, if it comes to that. She's a redhead, and he's quite salt-n-pepper-cute. Kinda bitchy-funny, once she got a couple of pinot grigios in her, and hardly mentioned her kids at all.
But still, I felt like a traitor to my kind. I'm not manager level. I'm staff support level! But I betrayed my peeps to go eat with the enemy. It felt very foreign to me. Executives are those people that you secretly resent and bitch about with your homies -- you don't dine with them.
But the tables divided themselves up by income levels, and I guess, since it was Husband's turf, we defaulted to his level. Makes me wonder -- who would we eat with at a Wenchie's Workplace party...? Enh, it'll never happen.
So, alas, we are star-crossed lovers. But we DO exchange the occasional email about baking. She made a Black-Swan-themed cake for an Oscars party! *swoon* Emo food!
Once every three years, the owner of the company Husband works at takes all the employees and their spouses on some big vacation or something. Crazy, right? I have GOT to get out of the non-profit industry! Anyhoo, if I can survive the plane ride, I'll get to spend a WHOLE WEEK with Sasha!
I told Husband not to expect to see me that week. He didn't even bat an eye. I think he's finally getting used to the idea that he married a thirteen year-old girl. Sleepover!
Posted at 02:17 PM | Comments (2)