October 30, 2011
Cata-lovue
I love this season, catalogue season. The sparkley covers, the extra-thick editions. The reds and golds and silvers, the suede and tweed and cableknits. The fact that at least three arrive in my mailbox every damn day. GOD, HOW I LOVE IT!
Husband loves it, too, although he will not admit it. But I know. And how do I know? Because we can be at the same table, eating a meal, and both of us are flipping through a catalogue. Not talking. Not conversing with our loved our about their day. Flipping through catalogues.
Judge if you must. I don't care. In fact, I pity anyone who hasn't had the luxury of thumbing idly through an October, November or December Pottery Barn catalogue. So I would like to share with you just a smattering of images from the catalogues I have received thus far.
At any moment, on any given day of the year, I wish I were... h e r e.
There are pumpkins! There are candles! There are pumpkin candles!
There isn't a single thing in this photo that I don't covet with every fiber of my being. And I especially love the vintage pick-up truck and the owl lanterns. When I first opened this catalogue three weeks ago, I was moved to tears. I couldn't bear to throw it in the recycling bin until yesterday. And that's only because I've received five more various Pottery Barn catalogues since there.
And here I thought the Tupperware catalogue was going to be boring.
She just finished making a radish rose, and now she's going to cut a bitch.
The poor guy in the background is all like, "Sure, that's pretty, but I was really hoping for nachos."
What I covet in this photo is probably not for sale.
Her hair! Holy Mary of the Sacred Salon, look at her hair! It's perfection!
I don't know why she's standing so awkwardly. Probably to get her hair to cascade over her shoulder like that. *le sigh*
And you knew there had to be some Barbie all up in here, right?
Normally, I don't go for the play-line (read:cheap) dolls, but this one is quite adorable. Her tailored suit, her kicky fedora. And those shoes! Hey, Mattel -- I've basically kept you in business single-handedly all these years -- think you could whip me up a pair of those platform oxfords in a size 8-1/2 wide?
The Anthropologie catalogue, as you might imagine, is quite another matter and will have to be handled entirely seperately, as I was beside myself with eye-rolling at the improbability.
* * * * *
P.S. Happy birthday to me! I am forty-two today. You may select a gift from the sidebar to your right and email me requesting my address. I don't mind if it arrives a little late -- I'm quite undemanding, you know!
Posted at 07:31 AM | Comments (1)October 20, 2011
Special Spinner
Stella is a spinner. No, not that kind of spinner! Sickos. I mean, she just... spins. She's kind of "special," in the way that "special" politely denotes "retarded."
So this is my Every Day After Work Routine. I come home, put my keys and my purse on the kitchen table, and say to to the dogs...
PW: Who wants to go outside?
Dogs: WE DO!
Daisy: I have to pee so bad!
Stella: Yeah. Thanks for drinking all the water, ya hog.
Da: Get bent.
PW: [opens back door] Go in back! [that's code for "Go to your designated part of the yard and relieve yourselves."]
Da: Gottapeegottapeegottapee. [goes in back]
PW: Stella, go in back.
St: No, thanks.
PW: That wasn't an invitation, it was an order.
St: Yeah, I think I'll wait here on the patio.
PW: Go in back!
St: I don't like to go while she's going.
PW: You lick her butt!
St: This is completely different!
Da: Ahhhhhhhhhhhh. Much better.
PW: Stella! In back!
St: Wait, she still has to poop.
PW: How do you know?
St: Because she always has to poop.
PW: True dat.
Da: Hmmm, where shall I place my precious cargo? Here? Or here? Or over here? Maybe here? No, I think I liked the first place better. But over there looks nice...
PW: JUST GO!
Da: Don't yell! It creeps back up when you yell.
PW: Oh, for God's sake.
St: Are we going to get a treat when we go back inside?
PW: Yes, if I don't die of old age first.
Da: Done!
St: Did you seriously say True dat?
PW: Yes. Now go in back.
St: It sounds stupid when you say it.
PW: IN BACK!
St: Fine. Sheesh. [walks towards the back of the yard] Hey, what's this?
PW: IN BACK!
St: Oh yeah. Hey, what's this?
PW: Stop smelling things and go potty!
St: Oh right. I forgo--Hey, what's this?
PW: I'm gonna leave you out here.
St: Fine, fine. But don't watch. [starts spinning]
PW: I have to watch, to make sure that it happens. This is my life.
St: [still spinning] Almost... almost...
PW: Seriously, what's with the spinning?
St: I have to get it in just the right spot.
PW: You've spun around four times now.
St: It's still not quite right...
PW: You're not quite right.
St: Six... seven...
PW: You know, other dogs don't do this.
St: Nine... ten...
PW: Admit it -- you just like to spin.
St: Twelve... thirteen...
PW: JUST GO POTTY!
Da: Mom, the neighbors can hear you.
PW: I don't care! She's a freak!
St: Done! [runs to the back door]
PW: Wow. Fourteen. I think that's a personal record for you.
Da: Yeah, congratulations.
St: I just like to get it right!
Da: Mom, can dogs have O.C.D.?
PW: Probably.
Da: Hmmmm, I wonder where she get's that?
PW: Shut up. No treat for you.
St: True dat.
Posted at 09:53 AM | Comments (0)October 09, 2011
Black Hair, White Collar
Oh my God, I am getting so good at these black-n-white titles!
Anyhoo, strap in -- this is going to be a rambling post in which I expound about two things that are almost always on my mind nowadays: Black hair, and dress. Black hair, as you know, is a taboo that has held me spellbound for quite some time now.
Dress, and how it practically dictates our standing in the world, is something that is just starting to dawn on me like... something really heavy that would... hit me hard and... crap, I am way too burdened with ponderousness to come up with a decent metaphor right now. Yeah, I'm a little thick. Like pancake batter. Oooh, I did it!
Okay, here we go.
Recently, there was a changing of the guard at my work, and we have a new C.F.O. -- an African-American woman. This is cool because...
a) She is a woman. (If any of you assholes squeal Grrrl power!, I will stab you in the eye.)
b) She is African-American. (No, I'm not a sistah, but I'm at least savvy enough to appreciate the significance.)
c) She is in her forties. (Unlike 75% of the executives, who are over 60. I'm really hoping that the roll-out of the new Microsoft package, plus the switch from GroupWise to Outlook, will thin out their ranks a bit.)
d) She is the best person for the job. (So unusual! Except in my case.)
So you see, although, in my position, I have zero dealings with the C.F.O., I am quite pleased by the whole thing. However, some people in the African-American community in our organization are not pleased. The reason? Her hair.
Girlfriend has a 'fro. Or as it is often called, "natural hair." Now, it is a perfectly tidy 'fro -- about two inches long, well-groomed, and always kept away from her face with a headband.
But I have heard more than one woman of color say, "She's gonna have to change her hair, now that she's C.F.O. She can't be looking like that in her position."
FASCINATING!
I am a white person obsessed with black hair, and it never occurred to me to think about her hair. But apparently, there is something not quite acceptable about natural hair in the black community. (Or perhaps, just not in the successful black community...?) So much so that they discuss it openly amongst themselves! Like it's an unwritten rule that she's supposed to follow, and they are going to monitor the situation until she gets with the program!
Does that seem weird to you? It seems weird to me. Like, wouldn't they be happy that a person of African descent made it to the top without conforming to Caucasian hair ideals? Isn't this a big win for the African-American community? I'm confused.
And here's another question: Are they just jealous that she doesn't spend all the time and money on her hair that they do? Of course, I'm not actually going to pose that question anywhere but here. But the next time I hear someone ragging on the C.F.O.'s hair, I am going to ask why that's a bad thing. And hope I don't get smacked.
As I monitor, out of one eye, the monitoring of her hair, out of my other eye, I will be monitoring her clothes. CFrO, as I will call her (see what I did there?!), has now joined an elite group of seven men and women executives in our organization. She is the third woman and, I must say, the worst-dressed. Not that she dresses badly! Not at all! Dress pants, dress shirts and cute flats every day. Her clothes fit well and are always clean and pressed.
She's just not a natty dresser, ya know? (Stop it; I said natty, not nappy.) While the two other women are easily wearing $500 head-to-toe every day with their tailored suits and silk blouses, CFrO wears maybe... hundred and fifty? Or so?
When I moved from working for PhD Boss to the top floor of Working For The Head Lady Boss Who Runs EVERYTHING, I stepped up my game a little. No more hoodie sweaters and corduroys. No more Old Navy and Target. I don't own a tailored suit (or aspire to), but I wear dress pants and heels and nice sweaters and blouses. I'm all about J. Jill and Coldwater Creek now. And that's not to brag -- because who would brag about being a nerdy, lame-ass, middle-aged, middle-class white chick? It's just to say that when my position changed, and my surroundings changed, I changed to reflect that.
No one told me to, either directly or indirectly. I just did it because, when I tell people No, you can't knock on her door when it's closed, or I'm not even going to show this to her until you get the form signed by your supervisor, I want them to know, if only on a subconscious level, that I MEAN BUSINESS. My boss' time is gold, and you aren't getting past my smart cardigan and creased pants unless I SAY SO.
And I continue to step up my game. When I catch myself in a mirror at work, and I don't look polished and professional, I relegate that particular top or look or necklace or whatever to my casual clothes collection. (Yes, the clothes in my closet are divided into work clothes and play clothes, on different racks.) Then I start looking at the latest catalogues to find something that DOES look polished and professional, and might have a chance of looking halfway decent on me.
Why? Partly because I am OCD and a control freak. But also because I am growning increasingly aware of just how much, down to our very core, what we wear and how we look affects not only how others relate to us, but how we think of ourselves.
I know that I'm sounding stupid because, OF COURSE, we have all gotten the lecture from our mothers to comb our hair and wear clean jeans and stand up straight. And as teenagers, we think, People shouldn't just me by outward appearances! And we're right -- they shouldn't.
If you have a mole on your nose, or are missing two fingers, or have a lazy eye, or something else you can't help, I would absolutely be a dick to judge you by that. This isn't Salem, and you can't tell a witch by her birthmark.
(But you CAN tell her by her new-age jewelry and Stevie-Nicks-wanna-be blouse!)
On the other hand, why shouldn't we judge people by the THEM that they choose to present to the world? Here are what your appearance choices tell me:
Neck tattoo -- You don't care if you're ever gainfully employed.
Thick, black eyeliner and bangs in your face -- You are hiding because you don't like yourself. You aren't tough; you're scared.
Sweatshirt with a kitten applique -- You are a doormat. The world walks all over you, just like your cats do.
Okay, those are obvious. And mean. But you get my point. With a sledgehammer. Everytime we groom (or not) and/or dress ourselves, we are choosing what we are first communicating to the rest of the world. Eighty or ninety or something percent of all communication is non-verbal, and since people often see us before we even open our mouths to talk, some of what we are "saying" has already been said. Plus, the person/people we're talking to has already decided how much credence to give our words!
I have never thought about all this more than in the past few months, where I am noticing a very obvious correllation between dress and status in the organization in which I work. I'm also finding myself forming opinions about people at work based on how they choose to present themselves.
[Disclaimer: All of this ruminating is strictly work-based. Outside of work, in the real world, I do not turn this keen eye to the clothes of my friends and family.]
And my conclusion? Simply, the folks who are "dressing for success" are reaching it. And those who aren't,... aren't. Weird. And I'm not sure how I feel about it. I mean, shouldn't people be rewarded for being savvy enough to figure out the game? Maybe. Although savvy game-players are, perhaps, not the kind of employee you'd want too many of in your organization.
It bodes well for me, though! I have no college degree. But if I can dress like a college grad and make people take me seriously by dressing myself very seriously, maybe I can climb a wee higher than Executive Administrative Assistant...?
Do I dare become a savvy game-player? I guess the REAL question is -- do I have the money to become a savvy game-player?
I'll let you know where this devil's-advocate train of thought takes me. Perhaps post a few photos of outfits... I don't know; I don't really want this to be come a "fashion blog." I will, however, be keeping a keen eye on CFrO, to see what -- if any -- savvy changes she makes to her wardrobe. And/or hair.
Posted at 05:27 PM | Comments (3)