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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Ebenezer in Heels

Today I ruined Christmas for poor kids everywhere. I stumbled into the lobby of my office building carrying a tray of self-baked cookies, a bag of Toys for Tots, another bag of wine and treats for my colleague, a briefcase holding only the yoga video that someone sent me by way of inter-office mail, a purse stuffed full of dirty tissues, and a travel mug full of steaming coffee. Several people offered to help. Several times I rejected. I have no idea why I do that when I so clearly need the help...but I do.

Needless to say, I set the travel mug down on the edge of the Toys for Tots bin hoping to make a seamless deposit and fulfill my daily contribution to humankind. It is important to note that the bin is on wheels and not the most obvious spot to rest your hot beverages. Within seconds, my travel mug was upside down on top of the toys and spilling my Green Mountain Espresso all over the toys.

I ran to the coffee shop and pleaded for some paper towels to sop up the mess. It took two rounds of pleading to get enough towels to complete the sopping, but I think my quick action salvaged most of the toys. I delicately placed my radio controlled car on top and continued on my way feeling like Ebenezer Scrooge.

Why God? Why?