Smart Little Mice

I nearly knocked out a woman curling her hair in the ladies room last night. I busted in there around 630pm as if I had an axe to grind with the door, only to find a woman holding a hot curling iron to her head on the other side. I've never seen the woman before and I have no idea what she was primping in my office building at night, but I used to know an old lady who lived in the bathroom of my former office building (pre-911 security), so anything is possible. Oh, and then my boot heel slipped and I wound up in splits on the bathroom floor. Awkward.

My coworker gave me a bottle of wine for the holiday. While I am certain there is a prohibition against drinking listed somewhere in my office's Managers Red Guide, I would most certainly be half in the bag right now if I'd received a corkscrew too. Let this be a lesson to people everywhere: When giving wine as office gifts, be sure to include a cheapo corkscrew. It's just the right thing to do.

That same coworker is kindly circulating a Christmas card for the nice woman who cleans our offices every night. The administrative support staff are mad at this for some unknown reason. Not just mad but hostile. I can't understand why giving a nice lady a Christmas card from the office would tick them off so much. I guess the Grinch really did steal Christmas. Or the office mice.

Speaking of mice, we had a mouse inspection last week and I am pleased to report that there was no evidence of mice in my office. That didn't stop the distribution of stick-on pads with black and white pictures of cheese all over my office floor.  Who exactly is the cheese picture trying to please? Because I'm pretty sure that the mice can't see it from their vantage point. The semi-annual inspection inevitably leads to all sorts of office gossip and speculation about who is responsible for attracting the mice, and this year was no different. The rumor mills have narrowed it down to two individuals: one who is never here but has an emergency junk food stash in their drawer in case the world comes to an end one day, and another who feeds the office home baked goodness all year round and apparently keeps a little stash for them self. I'm quite certain neither of these people are the problem, given that it's unlikely for mouse to smell food 21 floors up. Clearly there is a building-wide issue that we in the penthouse have the luxury of experiencing every now and again.

Maybe I should tell the office gossipers what I think. Hmm.  I always have a bout of brutal honesty around New Years. It's a little bit like Tourette Syndrome. I've been known to call people around this time of year to tell them exactly why I dislike them and then try to make up in time for the New Year. As you can guess, this does not work but I've never been known to give up that easily.  Last week I blurted out loud that it was too hard to speak in a meeting because everyone else was blubbering on so much..while in the meeting. Today I bought a turkey club and found it necessary to tell the new young male cafe teller that it weighed 6 lbs and had bacon on it. He had no idea how to respond. Neither did I. So we starred at each other silently for a moment before I hightailed it back to the elevator. Also today I decided to give my office nemesis a Christmas card with a note about "new beginnings in 2013." She hasn't acknowledged the contents of the note, which may mean she's not ready to start fresh...or that she's just a b**** like I originally assessed. Either way, I'm feeling a little bit like RHOBH Brandi Glanville right now, wishing I could take it all back. It's a damn good thing that I start a 2 week vacation today because its only a matter of time before my honesty sets off a firestorm around the office.

As an aside, I registered my son for kindergarten in the fall. This, on top of my daughter starting preschool in January, is making my eggs hurt. Watch out Husband. I'm coming for #3. Oh...and I'm going to quit my job and become a stay at home mom after giving birth, so you might starting thinking about a second job. Ho. Ho. Ho.

Signs

The telltale sign that it's been too long since I blogged is forgetting the password to this account. Whoops.

Speaking of signs, I've noticed a few things lately that I'm struggling to understand. Call them signs. Call them oddities. Call them too-much-time-on-my-hands. Call them whatever the hell you want, but they are weird.  Here's a short list:

• Middle aged men with braces. Really?
• Glove sneakers. Can it possibly be comfortable to wear those rubber soles between your toes? And what happens when you step on a rock or a shard of broken glass?  I cannot be convinced that technology has advanced to the point of rubber being that strong. I rode the elevator into work this morning with a dude in a suit wearing bright blue glove-sneakers. Head scratcher.
• The FBI, CIA or someone weird following me. I met a guy today that I ran into 3 more times in the course of the subsequent few hours. I left my building for lunch (a completely random occurrence) and followed the same man back and forth on my break, which included a one hour sit down in between. Could this be a coincidence? I think not.
• Strictly cheese dinners. Some lady walked by my office, announced she was going in for surgery tomorrow, and offered to unload her snacks from the work fridge so they don't get bad on her leave. Hmph. I noticed that it's 7:30pm and there is no end in sight for this work day, so why the hell not. Before I knew it there was a pile of cheese on my desk and a few carrot sticks serving as garnish. It took 20 minutes to figure out if I was supposed to eat or not eat the red peel on the Babybel. Not eat. I finally figured it out. Now I'm enjoying some small curd cottage cheese. My stomach is going to be angry tomorrow.
• Texas. I was obsessed with the saying "Don't Mess with Texas" for years. That ended Tuesday when Ca major media outlet said they were #1 for business and we were not. After a bitter pity party, I took to Twitter and wound up second only to Iowa in an online popularity contest. At this moment, I swear I will never say DMwT and smile at the same time again. Not even in my head. And if I have to be behind someone, I'm a little bit okay being behind Iowa. It's a smaller, quieter shadow.
• God damn hackers. I learned tonight that some silly group hacked into Yahoo and now I have to change my password and all sorts of other inconvenient junk. I mean, really. If you want to steal, start somewhere more lucrative than my Yahoo account. People who still use Yahoo - I am slightly relieved to learn I'm not the only one left, BTW - are not the type to have boatloads of offshore accounts full of endless streams of cash. We're old, technologically challenged and too lazy to switch. All this means we're probably broke too. There has got to be some pool of more-likely-to-be-rich-folk on gmail or something. Leave us Yahooians alone. Jesus.

Follow me @ADayinHeels if you actually have an interest in the types of silliness that I share on this blog. Otherwise, you will be waiting until August when I will have time to blog again (at least in theory).

Goodnight!

Rocky Start for a Monday

It's been a rocky start to my Monday morning. When I left my house, and it was 79 and sunny which made my bright orange & white tank dress and no jacket perfectly appropriate for work. By the time I got to my office building, it was 70-and-dropping with dark skies. Now it looks like Tropical Storm Debby has taken a new route directly into my view of the Charles River (see pic below).

 I am now freezing and completely under dressed. Dammit.

Another bad sign for the week? I made the first walk of the week down the long, echoing hallway to my office suite with my eyes closed. Trust me, those few extra seconds of pretend-sleep were really necessary this morning.  Between the closed eyes, wobbly walking and construction-cone-orange dress, I'm certain that some folks around here think I'm still drunk from the weekend. Oh....if they only knew. Drunk on paint fumes maybe (another post for another time).

What do I find when I get to my office?  A giant interoffice envelope in the mailbox on my door. I think, "terrrr-ific...all of this work is waiting right here at my doorstep. Awesome."  Then I look to see who it's from..."F. Word." Serious? Who did I tick off last week?  I start mentally flipping through the names and realize the list is too long to remember, but no one this brazen really sticks out so I give it another look. Ohhhhhh. It says "F. Wood". tee hee. I suppose that makes sense. No one actually thinks "F-Word" other than me. Most normal people just stick with F&$@!

On the upside, the envelope contained the front page of a daily newspaper with above-the-fold print coverage of a recent event that I attended. I'm glad to report that my hair looks good and I might even look skinny. NOTE: Remember to wear that suit more often!

Well, I must now take cover and wait for Tropical Storm Debby and the Supreme Court's health care ruling. Big day.

Sales, Generics & Floss

I'm a sucker for a deal. Slap a bright orange price sticker on something and I'll buy it. I get a thrill out of visiting an Ocean State Job Lot. And the outlet stores are to die for! I once bought a pair of designer 4 inch lavender heels with pink straps because they were 50% off. I wore them once, was likened to an Easter egg, and still pat myself on the back for the Big Find. Needless to say, if I'm convinced that I'm saving a few bucks, it doesn't matter what the item is or if I'll ever use it: SOLD.

I have a well document attraction to saving a few bucks and now that I'm responsible for our family grocery shopping, I have even more reason to cut costs. I'd really like a new kitchen, upgraded wedding bands, new landscaping, a Lexus, and lots of other shiny, expensive things.  This is an itty bitty incentive to cut grocery bills. Coupons are out of the question. But what about generics?

My mom believes that Hellman's is mayo and the other stuff is just a "fake." She (quite literally) turns people away from family parties if they are carrying a potato salad with the "fake stuff". I hate to say that I have a little bit of that product snobbery in me too. But from time to time, I'll sneak a generic product into the grocery cart to see if anyone notices. By anyone I mean me. And of course I'll notice. But I've built up a fantasy in my head that I have to hide this from Husband because he's so picky and that couldn't be farther from the truth. Husband would eat bird sh** if it landed on a cracker.  The truth is...it's all about me. Duh.

I'm learning that most generic products are exactly the same as the name brands, but the ones that aren't...really aren't even close. I've learned the hard way about a few of these things, and it feels like a civic duty to share. So here goes:

• Dental floss. The generic store-brand was 1/2 the cost of the smooth, silky floss that I'm used to using. I thought "how different could it be?" and wow did I find out. The generic is like flossing with a used guitar string that was used at Woodstock and was lost in the mud for 3 decades. Ouch. Pony up the $1.50 for the good stuff.
• Face cream.  While I don't need to spend hundreds of dollars on fancy European or naturally grown concoctions, I would rather not wake up looking like pubescent teenager in need of Proactiv. One look at me will teach anyone a lesson. Splurge on an extra $10 bucks for a recognizable brand. 
• Toothpaste.  Nothing says "you're cheap" more than bad breath.  There's something about generic toothpaste that not only tastes bad but leaves you with a sour taste all day.
• Shampoo. Dry, dull, flat, icky hair. That's all I need to say.
• Mayo. Hellman's is where it's at...

The dental floss is really so offensive that I can't even look at it without getting mad. It's actually caused me to floss more often just to get rid of the darn stuff. Don't do it, people. DON'T. DO. IT.

A Summit and Some Very Dry Wood

I had a delightful day yesterday. I jaunted down to Cape Cod on our first 100 degree day of the season. I was there to speak at a conference or "summit"...what the hell is the difference? I was on the agenda immediately after an economist from DC, which is exactly where I'm usually slotted and it typically works out well for me. Not yesterday.  I showed up during the economist's presentation and literally thought I was in the wrong room. The guy must moonlight as a stand up comic. He was unbelievable! The room was going nuts...and I was right there with them. It wasn't until they started reading my bio that I thought "Oh crap..."  I did my best to make light of the situation and went on about my business discussing housing policy, infrastructure and regulation. I took the house down. Kidding. It was fine. Not great. Not terrible. But fine. And all things considered, fine is damn good enough for me. Mediocrity. Now that's what life's about.

When all was done at the "summit", I met my mom for an uncomfortable argument over a clam roll overlooking the marina (I should clarify, this was uncomfortable for people around us, but mighty comfortable in our seats). The owner stepped in to mediate/break-the-ice and we let him roll with it and try to entertain us while we dunked our last few clams in tarter sauce. Then I started back to the cit-ay. 

I took a little detour on my way to the office and worked the rest of the day from home. I snuck in some garden watering, ant killing, and tree hacking. A whole city of ants has taken up residence in my yard. I tried to drown them but the ground kept collasping into bigger and bigger tunnels. I swear Bin Laden may have been living in there at one point. Disgusting! Once I got all grossed out by the ants, I stumbled upon an un-pruned tree. And boy was that tree in the wrong place at the wrong time! It's a good thing that I only had 10 minutes and a rusty saw that I found lying around in the garage (very safe for children, btw). A few limbs later, and we've got a clearer view of my front door and a slightly taller wood stack in the driveway. So what if I had a little saw dust in my hair, bra and eye. Do you think Paul Bunyan worried about such things? Nonsense.

Speaking of wood stacks, Husband has been "drying" the same stack of wood for about four years now.  Every few months I poke around the stack using long instruments, hoping to frighten any critters from nesting in there. I finally took a picture of the now-fully-dried-wood to post on Craigslist. I imagine someone will want free-and-very-very-very-very-very-dried-wood right?  Let's see how long it takes for someone to snatch this up. Could take a while since I'm scared to death to give anyone on Craigslist my address. There are Craigslist Killers out there, ya know.

It's 100 again today. I used the occasion to carry heels in my bag while running around town in flip flops. I now have a giant blister on my foot. Damn comfortable shoes. They'll get you every time!

I'm off to check on my ant kill now.  I am not very confident in the advice I got at Home Depot yesterday. I specifically asked for something that will "kill the shit out of the ants and all potential descendants" and I got something that required a hose connection and has some flowery language about safety on the packaging. I tried to wait for the ant-kill-specialist to finish her break and return to the department, but it was taking too long to finish her burrito...so I took the stand-in's advice and we'll see how it works out for me. Fingers crossed. Giant ants are gross.

Have a lovely weekend, all!  I'm hosting a playdate in the sprinklers tomorrow. Wish me luck.

5 Reasons Never to Leave My Office During Lunch

I've gone underground for some time. Some might wonder if I've abandoned the blog altogether and the answer is a resounding: NO! Join Twitter and you'll see that @ADayinHeels is quite alive. Love Twitting, btw. Nevertheless, I started a blog and now have an obligation to keep it up. Apologies to my 1 registered follower who deserves a special shout-out for having guts enough to register: You ROCK, Tie One On!

Now that's out of the way and I can proceed to my real reason for logging in. I will add a little context on the off-chance that someone who doesn't/didn't work with me happens to stumble here and wants to know what the hell I'm talking about.

I work on the 21st (top!) floor of a downtown Boston office building. Four mornings a week, I leave my home and 2 screaming-smiling-hitting-hugging-crying-laughing toddlers (it's a crap shoot), spend about an hour driving 10 miles into downtown, pull into a bat cave (aka the underground garage), take 2 elevators up to the 21st floor, and stay there until the sun goes down and the lights go off and the world tells me that it's time to go home.  Then I restart the process, but in reverse. I take 2 elevator rides down, hop in my car, drive out of the bat cave, and return home to 2 sleeping-screaming toddlers (crap shoot again) and a kitchen full of dirty dishes. On most days, I bring my lunch to work as an attempt to eat well, stick to a budget, and avoid leaving my office...ever. Some might call it work-agoraphobia. I call it practicality. I'm working 2 full time jobs: One in the office 4 days per week and one at my home 3 days per week (plus nights over the other 4 days). There is no time for aimless chit chat in the hallways, or waiting on some dude to slap my lunch together in the cafeteria. And getting outside for a quick gasp of downtown Boston fresh air? Not a chance.

Today I forgot my lunch (baked salmon and sauteed spinach - yum!). Once my stomach started to growl loudly and the virtual chewing technique failed me, I had no other choice but to visit the bowels of my building...also known as the basement cafeteria. 

Here my top 5 reasons never to go there again:

1. An elevator chuck full of interns pontificating on the likelihood that the Supreme Court will overturn the Affordable Care Act and what that means for Americans in...America. If I were in the right mood, I may have found these kids to be impressive. But today the elevator smelled like dirty laundry. Wrong mood.
2. The annoying woman who wants you to respond to her latest "emergency" and is always lurking around in the cafeteria (what's up with that chick?).
3. The creep in the sandwich line who eyes your low cut blouse while making small talk about subs. This is hilarious since I am an A+ cup who buys B cups for added "comfort". I thought A cups were allowed to wear low cut blouses? So much for that.
4. Overhearing yet another Red Sox conversation between the lunchman and some bored patron with a weird fixation on baseball. Today its the media who are making the Red Sox suck. Last week it was Gisele Bundchen, and yes, I know she's married to Tom Brady who is a Patriot and not a Red Sock...but I can't control these loud talking baseball freaks who never complete their sentences.
5. A "warm" fried eggplant and mozzarella wrap that is most certainly not part of Christie Brinkley's Healthy Rules to Live By and not warm. Argh!

Note to self for tomorrow:  Pack a lunch. Wear a high neckline. Bring smelling salts for the elevator, ear plugs for emergencies, and a disguise in case I ever forget my lunch again.

It's Mommy Day in Vegas

It's Mommy Day. I slept till 8, enjoyed a quiet coffee on the deck, watched the mini-people (my kids) race through an an obstacle course in the yard, and caught up on my own blog. Very fun day. And it's only 9:30! Mom is here to visit, which means the kids are in Vegas. Actually, it means we're all in Vegas. She treats every day like a vacation, which is awesome when you're 2...and 3. It's not so awesome when you're pushing 40 and trying to shed the last glimpse of baby weight. But hell, life is short. Today we're hitting up a buffet at a nearby hotel (see....Vegas) and I plan to eat at least 3 homemade donuts and one of their famous egg white, spinach and feta omlettes. The egg whites are in the mix because they taste good when doused with feta. Not because of the nutritional value. Only live once. My brother came by last night to join us for dinner. He brought me 2 scratch tickets. Before you rush to judgement here, you should know that they were $10 tickets (woah) and that i had (note passed tense) a little gaming habit a few weeks back. Remember that outrageous MegaMillions jackpot about a month ago? Well, former-colleague-so-&-so convinced me that I should buy one. "Only takes one" he says, just before revealing that he spends $10 on numbers games every week. I could not believe my ears (or eyes, since this revelation was delivered via email). I did what all weak-minded teens would do and I told myself "if he does it, so should I.". And that MegaMillions ticket proved to be the gateway drug that Mom warned me about. I won $9. I spent $8. Most people would see this as a $1 win, but not a weak minded teen. I rolled the $8 "profit" into some other games, then stayed up half the night cursing that the lottery pulls are no longer televised (budget cuts, I have since learned), but that the website isn't updated in real time. The first night this seemed like an outrage. How does the public stand for this?, I thought. Then I slept for a few hours and it became clear that most members of the public are not degenerate gamblers like me. long story short, I schlepped to the corner store three or four times over the next two weeks for more entries. Thankfully, I never won. Case closed. The gaming addiction became more work than fun. If someone can show me a mother in hot pursuit of more work, I'll consider buying another ticket. In the meantime, Im rehabilitated. Good thing I lost on the Mothers Day scratchies. Now, i mentioned catching up on my own blog. I love reading my own blog posts. Why is this fun, you ask? Because I like finding mentions of Alan Thicke when i'm meaning to reference Peter Funt (of Candid Camera, of course). While the hell would I be looking for Alan Thicke or thinking about Growing Pains when finding myself in a puzzling state of coincidence? I'm sure these random mistakes leave my reader (note singular) scratching their head, but my re-reading them, only to realize that I've repeated that verbally 30 times in the last week (thinking myself especially clever of course) just makes me laugh. Off to the buffet. Only. Live. Once. Happy Mommy Day!

This has been a brutal week (yes, again). However, I am doing my best not to complain because Thursday is actually my Friday. So here's my best attempt at not complaining.

I spent this week running from building to building all across this fine City. Far too much exercise for me. I seemed to step off of every staircase at the exact moment that the skies opened up and started to downpour. I spent the week looking like a drowned rat in heels. The only thing good about this picture is that I wasn't wearing flats. Phew!

I don't even own an umbrella. I think I had a Coach umbrella once, but since I spend most days trying not to go outside, I have no idea where it could be. Which is probably for the best. I nearly took out an eye when I borrowed one from a colleague this week. The metal spear came out of its doo-hickey-holder and poked some woman in the face. Whoopsie. I could have been sued and wound up soaked anyway. See!  Umbrellas are so not worth it.

Socks on the other hand...Socks are worth it. I am apparently too lazy to slip into some trouser socks during my morning routine and now every toe on both feet (um, that would be all 10) are blistered to the high heaven. The bottoms of each foot are covered with giant blisters.  Gorgeous additions to the orange spray tanned corns that I've been sporting since last week. Why exactly did spray tanning seem like a good idea? Who knows. But it's time to work trouser socks back into the morning routine. Maybe I can swap out something else to make room. Teeth brushing? Hair combing? Eyeliner application? I'll figure this out sooner or later.

I am a gem. It's remarkable that Husband hasn't left me yet. After today's two giant slices of cake, my ass is likely to blow up to be the size of Texas by morning. Now that is sure to be his last straw. I should start packing.

Hopefully this rain will stop soon so I can go back to the hot rollered Farrah-Fawcett-wannabe that he signed up for.  Like he bought me at a silent auction or something. Ha. He wishes. It would have been cheaper than dating me, I'm sure of that.

It's time to call it a week.

The Price of Good Health & Sanity

I am being stalked by a team of 7 loud talkers. It's true. It started at 11:00 am when they entered my downward bound elevator on Floor 17 and all started shouting at each other at once. It was very similar to watching an episode of Animal Planet.  I am confident that they were speaking in my native tongue, but the sound-barrier-breaking pitches were prohibiting me from translating the words. This is a common tactic used by stalking operatives to throw off their victims. Picture a group of 7 middle-aged, frumpily-dressed folks close-talking in a tight herd at the loudest register feasible for the human body. In fact, they may have broken loudness records.

I was excited when the elevator landed at 1 and the doors opened. However the herd stopped immediately in front of the elevator doors so I couldn't get out. Another common tactic to trap their victim in a confined space. Panic started to set in and I thought momentarily about taking another ride up in this same elevator car just to make the noise stop (a form of torture, ya know), but I was on a tight schedule...so I busted through the herd and made my way toward the fresh air.  Ahhhh...free!

After my appointment in a neighboring building, I had all but forgotten about the stalking heard. But then I ran into them again in the hallway. What are the odds of that? Pretty good for stalkers. They were still traveling in a tightly packed herd and shouting at very high pitches. I'll give it to them, they are remarkably fast walkers (except when near elevators). I got past them and again retreated to the solace of open air. Ahhh.

Once outside, I stopped for a very brief chat with a former colleague on the sidewalk. I couldn't believe my eyes when the same herd appeared on the sidewalk in front of me and was headed in my direction. How was this even possible?   I began looking around for Alan Thicke.  I swear that some of them were frothing around the mouth. Could these be signs of an unfortunate addiction to speed? Or an outbreak of rabies in my building? Judging by the crap flying out of the radiator vents in my office, it's likely the latter.

I'm back on the 21st floor on lock down in my office now and feeling a little more safe and secure. Though I'm taking shallow breaths to avoid contracting whatever illness is being spread by these damn radiators. The near-death experience has got me plotting my departure from this job - for safety sake of course. Who can risk getting infected by rabies laden loud talkers? That's a career killer if I've ever seen one. Forget about low cut blouses and too much perfume.

It looks like my quitting will involve a yard sale to resell all of my family's material goods and sentimental items, joining CouponSuzy and cancelling cable tv (I know Bravo, this hurts me too).  This sounds extreme, but can you really put a price on good health and sanity? For the record: Husband is not buying that one either.

Dust Bunnies, Cut Offs and Bravo

I've really got to stop telling people that we have an "open door policy."  It's more and more horrifying every time someone drops in unexpectedly when my house is a mess. Is there such a thing as compounding anxiety? If so, I have it. Just today a colleague in a suit was standing next to a toddler table that was teetering over with freshly painted stack of art. I was paralyzed with fear that this man would leave my house with pink sparkles on his ass. I wish I were strong enough to embrace my imperfections, but I'm not. I'm a weak woman and there is simply no hope but to become agoraphobic, stop inviting people over, and accept that I'm living in a toy factory.

NOTE: Seriously Mom. Enough with the toys. There are only so many things I can hide in the attic.

I just got a call from my bestie girlfriend (H.) who has been in my life since I wore cut off acid washed booty shorts and used aerosol hairspray to manipulate exactly two strands of bangs to stand straight up in gale forced winds. Why two strands? I guess I thought that sparsely populated bangs were attractive.  This bestie and I spent our summers on Cape Cape at a phone booth trying to win a date with George Michael from the radio. Yea, that was before we knew he was gay.  We met when we were 15 and were dating the same guy who incidentally had a girl voice. In two minutes, he was long gone and we were bonded for life.

She's seen it all and remained a friend despite my not-so-attractive moments (and I wish I could say there were only a few, but that would be an outright lie). She's got 3 kids, I've got 2. She lives in Palo Alto and I live in Boston. Between the kids and the time difference, we rarely talk now but when we do, it feels like we've never skipped a beat. Talking with H. feels like going home. And she called me tonight to say that she'll be on the Cape Cod for a week in July and....drumbeat please...it's the same week that I'll be there!!!

The universe is trying to tell me something. First there was that coincidental meeting with the man-who-was-fired-then-counselled-by-a-man-within-my-professional-organization. I was awestruck by this man who was turning a hardship into opportunity before my very eyes and then pulled out the business card of a man he was crediting for helping him, and that man works for US! I don't care what anyone says, that was meant to be. And now this week in July with my bestie and fam on Cape Cod! Yay! It's amazing. Life is good and for the record, H. can walk into my messy house any day of the week and I wouldn't bat an eyelash. LOVE her. And I can't wait for my special walk down memory lane this summer. I wonder if the phone booth is still there?

Miscellaneous Emotional Outburst: Oh. My. God. I'm watching Real Housewives of OC and I'm about ready to slap the tv. I don't know how Alexis does it. I really don't. Her husband is an insecure a-hole and if he says that she was made from his bone one more time, I'm going to vomit. I realize I'm a democrat from Massachusetts, but this is 2012, right? Someone send this Jim-guy an email: "Women are equals, dude. But you might be able to find a servant on Craigslist." I'm glad this guy lives on the opposite coast. Ick.

And Here Comes that Pendulum Swing: I'm SO thrilled that Rosie Pope is coming back to Bravo!  Yay! She is a riot and her moms to be are more nuts than me, which is somehow therapeutic.

A Rainy Monday Morning

Today I decided to sock it to "the man" and showed up for work at 10am (instead of 9). Wowzer. I'm such a rebel. Didn't take long for me to realize that I've really screwed myself over today, given my workload and hopes of getting home for a 6:30pm yoga class. Duh. I'm better off keeping to my comfort zone and being a rule follower. Live and learn.

The fabulous (no skin) chicken soup that I made without a recipe is sitting on my desk and staring me in the face. I can't wait to dive in and see how it tastes. Marjoram sounded interesting, so I threw some in like a mad scientist. It looks good...but so did those horrific muffins. No. Actually. They looked like horse poop.  I grew up in the country and trust me...I know what horse poop looks like.

I'm psyched to report that my snug navy pant suit is loose today. Really?  @Bethenny was right! It doesn't take much more than awareness about your eating habits to shed a few extra pounds. I'm down 6lbs without a lick of exercise and it feels great.  Maybe it wasn't a rash decision afterall when I lost 1lb and rushed out to purchase a new bikini. Husband thinks it'll sit in the drawer just like the one I bought last year, but I'm determined to prove him wrong. Thinking it would be nice to work a little exercise into my routine, I allegedly signed up for a triathlon in 4 weeks. I'm burning calories in my mind just thinking about it. I haven't yet broken out the book of possible excuses to get myself out of it, but I assure you that's coming. I'm deeply regretting the pool swim because it eliminates the I-haven't-swam-in-years-and-its-just-irresponsible-for-a-parent-of-young-children-to-try-and-do-this excuse from my list.  Damn me. What was I thinking?

I just got a very dangerous text message (broke another rule there! I don't read personal texts while working...damn, I'm going to be wearing a T-Birds jacket soon). My high-powered-super-successful-career-oriented-girlfriend just resigned her high-powered-super-high-paying-job. She is making a life change that involves a pay cut, less stress, and more time with her family. And why is this dangerous? Because I rewrote my resume yesterday and may not make it to 5pm without doing the same.  Again, why is this dangerous exactly? Because I am not super-high-powered with a super-high-paying-job and I have no plan for how to pay my mortgage. I pretend that I'm supercalifradulistic-enough not to need a back up plan because employers will surely line up at my doorstep when they learn that I'm a free agent. True? Not true? Unlikely that I'll ever know....because I'm a rule follower...and my mortgage holder knows where I live. Damn me.

There's always craft fairs...

Weekend in Review

I've never been known as being much of a cook. In fact, I think smart people know me as someone whose cooking should be avoided. I'm 99% sure that people typically stop for a slice of pizza on their way to my house for dinner, but I've been cool with it. Historically, I sucked in the kitchen. But I didn't try, so it was somehow okay. Well, I did try that one time I made a pie for my inlaws Thanksgiving gathering. I don't particularly care for pie, but I really wanted to use my fancy red pie plate. My motives were screwy from the beginning of that one. It was inedible and someone actually gagged at the table when they took a bite. I was mortified and have since limited all contributions to inlaw gatherings to drinks and paper products.

Lately I've been "trying". Following some recipes. Trying new spices. Easter was edible. Meat was cooked. People were happy. That was a BIG step forward in my culinary journey. I was feeling a little bit more confident.

Since then I've started whipping up low fat muffins from scratch and some other health-conscious treats. After a few small successes, my self esteem went from a-little-bit-more-confident to full-on-cocky....at rocket speed. You know that rock-painting/craft-fair fantasy? Well, I added low fat baked goods to my fantasy repertoire. I envisioned elderly people from the entire northeast region flocking to my craft fair stand to purchase wheat-germ-laden-delights and telling all of their retirement home friends about it. Next stop: A million dollar deal from the Shark Tank. Prosperity abound. Ok...I got a little carried away, but why not dream big?

So today I whipped up some carrot muffins from scratch...without a recipe. I'm a natural in the kitchen afterall. Ummmm. Bad idea! I didn't know if I was supposed to use baking soda or baking power and in what quantities. So I used both equally. That was only the beginning of my problems. And no surprise, the "muffins" were horrendous and I threw them straight into the trash. DSS would have been here in a NY minute if I'd tried feeding them to my kids.

As if that taste of carrot "muffin" wasn't painful enough, I'm now working on two more concoctions without a recipe. Chicken and veggies for dinner tonight and chicken soup for tomorrow. Yesterday I noticed chicken on sale for 88 cents per pound and wah lah...the recipes just popped into my mind. Unfortunately, I'd discounted the nastiness involved with skinning pounds of drumsticks and chicken thighs. Oh. My. God. DISGUSTING! I don't know how much they pay the dudes and dudettes who work at Purdue, but I hope they are unionized because it's surely not enough. I am going to have nightmares tonight. The two dinners better turn out delicious or my cooking career is over.

Yes, that's a promise.  Now please excuse me while I bath in bleach to get the feel of chicken fat off my hands.

It's been a while

I lost track of the blog while attempting to change the world, but world-changing has proven to be an exhaustive effort...so I'm back to blog. And so the cycle continues.

Here are some random thoughts:

• In an effort to avoid heels-related injuries, I took a cab the distance of a football field. This is not unusual for me, but the cabi's pleasant response certainly was. These several-hundred-foot drives usually end in a screaming match. I will never understand this response from a person working in a service-related industry. I might have given the guy a $100 off-the-books tip for a $5 ride, but he'll never know that because he acted like an a-hole and yelled at me the whole way.
• Husband and I went to the Celtics last night. It was a business meeting for Husband and I was along for the ride and some free pinot grigio. The low part of my evening was a desperate (and successful) attempt not to vomit in the backseat of our driver's car. Our average speed throughout the 10 mile trip was 90 and involved lots of weaving.  It was so bad that I offered to take a $50 cab ride home to avoid a repeat performance but that didn't pan out (I had an extra glass of wine to help with the return trip). The high part of my evening was witnessing a mature, well-dressed man in front of me yelling "You're the bomb!" at the Celtics strippers...er...I mean dancers. Hilarious. From the look of him, this man is very high powered and was wearing a $2500 suit...but I shop at Marshall's and TJ Maxx so what do I know?  People watching at sporting events is simply fantastic.
• A random man in Boston Common started talking to me yesterday about getting fired and then deciding to start up his own painting business - all in the same day. If that's not a "can-do" attitude, I don't know what is. The guy was so enthusiastic about his future and all of the doors that were opening for him, that I actually got a little carried away in the moment and my mind went back to my craft-fair-business-idea. No, I'm not crafty...but the people who frequent those things will buy anything. There's got to be a painted-rock business in there somewhere. Long story short, this man pulled out a business card of a guy who works in my organization and went on and on about how helpful and positive the man was, and how he helped to change this guy's life. It reminded me why I do what I do. And I immediately sent a note to that guy's boss, bosses boss and up to the top. It's called performance recognition. Ever heard of it?
• Let me tell you this:  Customer service is so simple and so effective. I just can't understand how the rest of the world hasn't figured this out...well, except for Disney.  My son peed on the floor of a Disney store recently and the lady continued to smile while wiping up the pee...now that's customer service. In light of my appreciation for these efforts, I am making a commitment to blog about every business that I encounter who offers exceptional customer service. And when I get a new job, I'm going to add those with bad customer service to the list too (you hear that, a-certain-cable-company-that-shall-remain-nameless?).

Annual Birthday Lay and A Wigged Lurker

Monday was Husband's birthday. After throwing him a mini-family party complete with a birthday top-hat, streamers and his favorite carrot cake, I turned on The Bachelor and he went to bed. Hold the phone...the excitement is killing you, I know. Tuesday morning I woke up feeling a little funny.

Me: "So, you missed your annual birthday lay last night."
Husband: "Your lying."
Me: "No, I'm not!  I tried to wake you up last night but you wouldn't budge. It was around midnight."
Husband: "Well, no wonder. I was sound asleep by then."
Me: "Hey, better luck next year."
Husband: "Heh."
Me: "Hahahahaha." (thinking: I am soooo funny)

I was in the midst of a virtual pat-on-my-own-back when I walked out of one room and ran into our babysitter in the next. She heard the whole thing. Oops.

The babysitter - a lovely 60-something year old woman who may or may not wear a wig - is supposed to be at our house by 7:30am. I gave her a key so I could avoid running downstairs in a towel every morning. 7:30am quickly became 7:20am and I wasn't complaining. Then 7:20am became 7:15am and I still wasn't complaining. Now 7:15am has become 7:05am and I'm sort of complaining. It's just weird to have some old lady lurking in the dark shadows of your house before you are even awake. She lets herself in and then sits silently in the dark waiting. I'm sure she's just trying to be respectful (while keeping our energy costs down?) but it's sort of strange.

But hell, who isn't a little strange. And my hair looks like a wig half of the time too. One thing is for sure: Husband will stay up for the full episode of The Bachelor next February 27th.

Superbowl Madness

Let's make one thing very clear: I'm no sports fanatic.  Husband will attest to that. But even I know that the Patriots are playing in the Superbowl this Sunday. It is virtually impossible to find someone in this state - better yet, in this region - who doesn't realize this fact. But sure enough, there is at least one person in my office building without a clue. You're shocked. I know.

While riding the elevator down 21 floors, I made a few stops. The first time I picked up two guys in suits. The second time, I picked up 2 more guys, one wearing a leather bomber jacket with "Patriots" on the back. Notice how I say I picked them up? As if I'm doing them a favor by letting the elevator stop on their floors. Damn right, I am. And yes, leather-bomber-jacket-man thinks he's a T-Bird. One suited-guy taps bomber-jacket-guy on the back on says "Oh, I see you are a sports fan. I am not. How are they doing this season?"  The bomber-jacket guy chuckles then says "I've had this coat for 10 years."  The first guy repeats with no sign of emotion or humor "How are they doing this season?" The bomber-jacket guy stares back at him intently. First he's puzzled, then he's pissed. Apparently the suited-guy honestly didn't know that the Patriots will be playing in the Superbowl this weekend.

I was astonished and delighted all at the same time. This is the weirdest and most entertaining thing I've witnessed all day.

Sunday, Bloody Sunday

It's a beautiful sunny Sunday afternoon here in Beantown and I am on the top floor of a skyscraper working. Grrrr. The windows in this office do not even open, which is usually a good thing given how frustrated I sometimes get. That whole "I'm going to jump out the 21st floor window" joke would be a lot less funny if I could actually do it. But today its a real bummer because my stuffy nose could certainly use a good whiff of CO2 and the other great pollutants that are all part of an urban environment. I guess this is inspiration to work harder and finish quicker. (Could this statement be evidence of my glass-half-full policy coming to fruition for 2012?).

I had another bout of insomnia last night. I had myself convinced that evil took me over for most of  2011 and that I needed to repent for better living in 2012. Yup. Raised Catholic. What is it about the dark that makes your mind go crazy?  I mean, literally crazy. I got up and watched tv until 2am. I knew this wasn't a good way to kick off a Sunday, but I figured it would all be better by morning. Bill Maher is a riot, by the way. I'm so glad I have free HBO for 4 more months! (again, glass-half-full).

I finally fell into bed at 230am and all was well until 630ish when Husband woke up and announced that he was leaving for a run. After a little bit of begging on my part, Husband nicely agreed to delay his run for a couple hours to watch the cherubs so I could get some shut eye. This was great news. I was as happy as a lark (no idea what that means, but I think people say it and I assume that larks are very happy birds; they are birds, right?) until my son snuck up on me and screamed "MUFFIN PARTY!" at the top of his lungs within 3 inches of my nose. It was a terrific way to be awoken from the deepest sleep of my lifetime. I mumbled something incoherent and rolled back over, only to be awoken ten minutes later when Husband announced he was really leaving this time. Really? I'm still recovering from the muffin party announcement. Ugh. I had so many objections to this plan, but I couldn't get myself together enough to verbalize them. Before I knew it, the front door was closing and Husband was sprinting away from the house. For a moment I thought about going back to sleep, but then I remembered these are my kids. Curious and creative little buggers. They require constant supervision. And handcuffs.

When I got around to opening my eyes, I quickly realized that I was half blind. Okay, not blind as in completely dark. But it was partly dark and so blurry that I could not see. I was sure it was some pesky lint or sleep dust or something in there, so I rummaged through the dirty tissue purse and doused my cheeks with eye drops before finally hitting my targets. Nope, the drops didn't work. So I flushed the eyeballs with water. Nope, the water didn't work. Hmph. If I didn't have Lasik surgery 2 weeks ago, I would have sought medical attention the way I usually do: Google. But since I did, I was taking every precaution and seeking the advice of an actual professional (or at least someone who had assumed insane amounts of medical school debt, which must make them worthy of some sort of valuable advice).  I stumbled downstairs and called an on-call physician who was less than thrilled to have her Sunday origami session interrupted by some blinded chick. Long story short, I cured myself of dry-eye and the on-call doctor was thrilled to have done absolutely nothing. I didn't even consult Google. I knew I should have been a doctor!

Now, if it wasn't the insomnia then I was sure the temporary blindness would have been the low point of my Sunday. "It can only go upwards from here" I was thinking. But then my almost-2 yr old daughter pooped on my 3 yr old son's bedroom carpet. What is up with this kid and pooping on the carpet? It's unbelievable! I got that cleaned up and was sure that was the low point of my Sunday. Then I remembered how many deadlines I have on Monday and decided to come to work to avoid a panic attack. Working on a Sunday is brutal enough, but then I find colleague-so&so in the next office down blasting opera music and stirring up all sorts of dust and other air born particles while "cleaning". Doesn't this dude know the particles are better off deep in the carpet fibers and heating ducts? Swishing them around in the air is going to make us all sterile. To his credit, he turned down the Barbara Streisand (or was it opera?) immediately, but I can't breath and my nose is as stuffy as it's been in years. If this is not my low point for today, then it is especially good that my skyscraper window doesn't open. For him and for me.

I will sign off now to embark on a moment of silence and pray that this is, in fact, the worst part of my Sunday. There is nothing but savory & sweet rainbows in store for the rest of my afternoon. Yes, Husband took the two kids grocery shopping. Score one for me!

Ta-ta. For now.

Deep Thoughts by Lady in Heels (Part Two)

Forgot one!

• What is it about the sensation of open air that makes a 2 yr old feel the need to poop on a rug? Potty training is the worst. Fortunately, our local carpet cleaner is the best. This is nature's way of balancing the universe.

Deep Thoughts by a Lady in Heels

I have been slacking with recent posts which is okay since no one reads this blog anyway. Here is a random smattering of thoughts that have crossed my mind recently:

• I love it when people wander around in public singing at the top of their lungs. I noticed it recently in a dressing room at the mall and the parking lot of Stop & Shop. To all you American Idol Wannabes, please keep this up. It's seriously hilarious. You simply cannot beat someone getting lost in song. Especially when they're tone deaf. 
• What's with the diagnosis of "exhaustion" that seems to be disproportionately impacting celebrities? I am exhausted. How do I get checked into a special center for some pampering and sleep? I'm not sure if these PR people are trying to cover up celeb rehab or plastic surgery, but if this "exhaustion" center stuff is real, I need in.
• I am convinced that some "people" are actually vessels sent here by God to test my willpower against evil. There is no other explanation for why I am forced to interact with some incredibly useless and difficult people. You know the type. They are insecure about their station in life and make everything harder than it needs to be in an effort to prove they are smarter than you. I have a special message for these people: This. Doesn't. Work. Other (productive) people don't want to work with you. The mere sight of them is exhausting (Note: Does this make me eligible for admission to an exhaustion center?) Noticeable avoidance by others seems to make these people work harder to demand control, which then makes us (smarter) people work harder to avoid them. It's an endless cycle of distraction generated by people with a negative value in the workplace. And I am sorry to say that I'm failing God's test miserably. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that I'm Catholic.
• But hiding in the women's room from the kinds of people referenced above is not a good idea. I tried it last week and got stuck in the stall for 20 minutes. Not only was I trapped in a confined space listening to the annoying-kind demanding that the conscientious-kind slow down and virtually cease all productivity. But I lost at least 40 minutes of my own productivity (20-minutes listening followed by 20-minutes of deep breathing to recenter). I was too far into it when I noticed my easily recognizable shoes sticking out of the stall. Not good. This was an all-around bad judgement call on my part. I can admit that.
• What's with people who make un-funny jokes during presentations? It's annoying. I had to sit through a panel yesterday that was twice as long as it needed to be because some guy mistook our conference room for the Last Comic Standing auditions. The law-making process is not funny, buddy. And the insincere giggles were reactions of sympathy, not humor. Your tribe has spoken. Now, get off this island. If it were only that easy.
• Speaking of tribes and islands, when does the reality tv come back? I miss you, Jeff Probst, Celo-Blake-Christina, and the whole Trump family. Chris Harrison is terrific, don't get me wrong. But he and his roses are simply not enough to keep me entertained through the long, cold winter months. The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills has just wound down too. It's been a rough week for me, emotionally.
• Groupon has me stumped today. Do I go for 65% off Invisalign or 60% off 20-units of Botox? This decision is paralyzing. I'm sure I need them both, but which do I need more? And is saving for college tuition a worthy sacrifice for beauty. Duh. That's an easy one.

Mutism Would Come in Handy Right About Now

One important question for today: Why is it that every conference call starts off the same damn way? The moderator announces he/she is there, then silence...until six people all try to introduce themselves at the same time. It never fails. It goes down this way Every. Damn. Time. Then we wait awkwardly for one important person who unapologetically calls in late and then yells "HELLO?!?!" as if this is their very first experience with this new fangled technology called a telephone. Embarrassing. There's got to be a better way.

One more important question: Why the hell did God give me the power of speech? It creates some serious problems for me and everyone around me. For instance, while in the dentist chair recently I announced that "I am a compulsive swallower." My dentist is 18. And he turned purple. The nurse did her best not to laugh in my face by invoking some fake coughing. Horrible. What is wrong with me? I know why I said it, but its not worth defending here in print. It was just so wrong and then so awkward.

Se-se-securrrr-ity

Terrific. My office building has hired an overzealous security guard who is posted at the entrance of our parking garage. The boy-man resembles GI Joe with his combat pants tucked into his combat boots. I didn't notice this feature of the uniform previously. Perhaps the prior guards just didn't wear it as well.

All I know is that this guy is holding up traffic as he spends garage-rush-hour leaping into car windows, in close-talker proximity to your face, scanning the interior of your vehicle for suspicious objects. Then his eyes dart frantically between your identification badge and your face. Millions of times over. For what seems like an hour. I think he's trying to make me nervous, but I love a good staring contest so it isn't working.

Someone must have told him that the woman in the SUV with two baby seats and a few thousand goldfish and empty juice boxes on the floor is a major threat. I can't say he's completely off base there.

Okay. It's dark and creepy in my office at this moment and I am sort of convinced that GI Joe is hiding behind a file cabinet spying on me. Wait. Did someone say something about bats?

P.S. That's right folks. I have a comment. You know what that means: I'm baaaaaack! No followers yet, but I'm sure they're out there. Probably hiding behind the file cabinet with GI Joe.

Bats

I have gone bat-ass crazy. How do you know, you ask? Well, I dreamt it.  I awoke in a frenzy this very morning after one of the most vivid dreams I've ever had. No, I wasn't falling. But I was refinishing my basement. Something that has been discussed at great lengths in my household, including a conversation yesterday. So, in this "dream" (perhaps better described as a nightmare or even hallucination), I entered the basement prepared to commence construction. Myself. Heh. Little did I know that there was a pack of bats cloaked in the grey of their own wings and disguised as part of the concrete basement floor just steps away. As I started to mount the stick-on ceiling tiles (which looked like crap, by the way), I stepped right into the pack of bats and they swarmed me. Biting and nipping at my whole body.

I should have died from the very shock of this dream.  It was crazy intense. Instead, I woke up thinking that I'd gone mad. What kind of person dreams about being swarmed by bats? Weird, right?

My day went on as I tried to figure out how I was going to cope with insanity. Then I clicked on Boston.com and remembered that I stayed up too late last night to view the 11pm news, where I heard that a local man contracted rabies from a bat bite in his home. Then I heard that bats can bite people while they are sleeping and the little mongrel teeth are so small that the person may not wake up or even notice the bite. Holy crap. Yup, that's scary enough to cause nightmares alright. Here's a clip of the story in the event that you want to go a little nuts too.

Who needs horror flicks when you've got the 11pm news? Serves me right for trying to educate myself by way of mainstream media. Ignorant is by far the best way to go.