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!

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.

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.

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.

Christmas Shopping

If you want to know what hell is like, visit the South Shore Plaza a few days before Christmas. Parking is a nightmare. Cars stalking mall-leavers. People screaming from car windows. Some nice man tried directing me to the parking spot that he was about to leave and some nutty lady with a perm rolled down her window and screamed, "I was here first, a**hole!" Three cars (including me) had to back into the flow of moving traffic so she could back up enough to get into his spot. Unbelievable. And that was just the parking lot.

Once inside, I quickly noticed that size 4T was sold out of every store. How is this possible? It took combing 6 stores to find a suitable sweater vest for my son for Christmas Eve. Sweater vests are so lame, but I tried a blazer last year and my little guy looked 70. What's a mommy to do?

Will someone please explain to me what is up with old women and line-cutting? It's so damn rude. I realize you're small, but you're not invisible. It is downright mean to step in front of a sweaty mother wearing dirty velour sweats trying to balance 16 bags and pay for a sweater vest. Sweet-talking me with your little old lady voice and trying to share your Macy's coupon does not make it any better. You're a cutter. Own it, jerk face.