So, I picked my Kaiser Permanente doctor based on his hotness.
Oh, don't you judge. WHY is there a picture of the doctor if they don't want you to judge them on their honest, trust-worthy eyes or come-hither smile?
However, I almost instantly regretted it. I entered the office wearing a snug little electric blue Joan Holloway dress over leggings and boots. The only person who got to appreciate this was the nurse, however. When Dr. Sexy walked in, I'd been ordered to wear a paper gown, and it was some sort of cropped version. So there I was, in a paper belly shirt, leggings and boots. I looked like a Xanadu extra.
Then there was the portion of the exam in which he asked if I lived with someone. I said, "A roommate." And then he wrote something. (Why is this relevant? Is he worried I will slip in the shower, hit my head and bleed out before anyone misses me? Is this a check box on a form?) And then he moved on to "Are you in a relationship?" No, I replied. "Do you want an AIDS test? " No thank you. "But when did you last have an AIDS test?"
Look buddy, this is not date one questioning.
About a year ago, I say.
"But don't you think we should test you, just in case?"
NO, I reply.
"Have you had sex since you had the AIDS test?"
....(insert weird, babbling, self-deprecating speech which I refuse to type here)
Also, let's just say we fall in love. He can never ask me out, no matter how funny and charming I am during my physical. No doctor/patient shenanigans, right? (Doctor friends, please weigh in.) And believe you me, he was definitely falling in love with me as I joked about my go-to physical ailments. Bunions? What's more alluring than an outgrowth on my toe knuckle that causes me pain whilst tramping around in fuck me heels? Oh, and my goiter? How about my old man back disease that was discovered during my shotput career? I'm sex on a stick!
I think the highlight of the experience was when he told me I could get dressed and I said, "Um, could you look at a weird mole I have on my back?" If that's not foreplay, I don't know what is.
Anyone who knows me knows that if there is a cell phone to be ruined, I will ruin it. I cannot hold on to them.
My old boss used to tell me that her body physically rejected watches. As in, watch batteries died within days of her placing the watch on her wrist. Well, I am the cell phone equivalent of this. Cell Phone Killa. I'm also not particularly good with laptops or iPods. In the last two months, I have:
1) Had a water bottle leak in my backpack, seeping into my laptop, catalogues on grad school and a book I'd borrowed from someone (luckily I had left my cell at home, adverting crisis but was generally annoying and typical of me). 2) Had same laptop (which did recover after 2 days of laying on a towel with a fan blowing directly one it) literally blow up 3) Had a cell phone jump out of my car
This has inspired me to list ways in which electronics have died for me, and for others.
1) Death by Beer: Sometimes you justify working by kicking back on the couch with a beer and your laptop. And sometimes you have more than one beer, and then your ability to think ahead is diminished. And that is the precise moment that you put the laptop and the beer next to each other on the coffeetable, then get up abruptly when your phone rings, and watch as the beer topples over on your computer. Keyboards rarely recover from this, and those AppleCare Genius Bar guys know what beer smells like.
Lesson: Don't work and drink. Just drink.
2) Death by Rabbit: My Nintendo met this death when I brought the 5th grade class rabbit home. (Even though this was not at all my fault, my mom would not buy me a new machine, even though I saved up the $99 to buy the Nintendo at Toys 'R' Us as the first example of learning to save and budget. Because of the unfairness of this, I have since never truly understood saving up for something, since at any time a rabbit and your mom could destroy your dreams. So just buy it and figure out how to pay for it later. Also, don't read this blog for financial advice.)
But I know someone else whose laptop cord was similiarly destroyed in this manner. The rabbit gnawed away at the $100 power cord, the speaker cords and a USB cord. Not the most expensive loss, but still upsetting.
Lesson: Don't own a rabbit. It is a pointless pet.
3) Vacation via Cab/Possible Entry in Witness Protection Program: My cell phone gets really bored just hanging out in one of the myriad attractive handbags I own. Sometimes it yearns to get out there and see the world. So it plots ahead for a night when I make a responsible decision and decide to take a cab home from a bar. "I know she'll try to drunkenly call someone from the cab," it thinks. "And that's my chance to see what else is out there in this big bad world! Maybe not all phone calls will revolve around bitching about work and wardrobe choices and whether what he said really reflected what he meant!"
Pink razor #3 thought this was a great plan, and thusly is somewhere out there. Out there meaning wherever the cab driver took it.
Lesson: You can't control cell phones when they reach the rebellious stage. Just get cell phone insurance.
4) Death by Toilet: Since the death of my Razor phone by these means, I have learned that many have lost phones in this manner. I find some comfort in this communal experience of loss. This situation typically happens in a bar situation. You may be expecting a call from a friend, or a potential lover, or you plan on texting your ex when you reach the 6 drink minimum. So you put your phone in the back of your jeans, and suddenly, you realize the seal must be broken. By the time you've waited in the bathroom line at the dirty, dirty bar, your phone is the last thing your mind. Until you do your patented hover move over the pot and hear the telltale splash. Your phone is literally swimming with the fishes, and ne'er shall work again.
Lesson: Prevent loss by toilet by arranging booty calls ahead of time. Be a planner.
5) Death by Chinese Irish Acrobat Piss: My friend Robert tells me this story is true, and I guess I have to believe him although he tends to be somewhat hyperbolic. At one time, he was dating a Chinese Irish acrobat. On one special sleepaway situation, the acrobat woke up from a drunken stupor and, not remembering the basics of human life, relieved himself on Robert's desk. In the morning, Robert discovered that Macs and Chinese Irish acrobat piss don't mix. And that no amount of money is worth the humilitation of admitting to tech support that your boyfriend urinated on your laptop.
Lesson: Date Chinese Irish acrobats that are on the wagon, or that have family money to replace what their urine destroys.
*Special Section: When It Is Ok to Let It Go 6) Death by Bullet Train Toilet:A passenger on a French train had to be rescued by firemen after having his arm sucked down the on-board toilet. The 26-year-old victim was trapped when he tried to fish out his mobile phone, which had fallen into the toilet bowl, and fell foul of the suction system. The high-speed TGV train had to stop for two hours while firemen cut through the train's pipework. The man was carried away by emergency services, with the toilet still attached to his arm. "He came out on a stretcher, with his hand still jammed in the toilet bowl, which they had to saw clean off," said Benoit Gigou, a witness to the man's plight.
Lesson: French people don't know how to invent toilets that don't eat your arm. Avoid France.
Remember when I talked about the Uptight Woman in Cube Next to Me (UWICNTM) and her special requests for her own printer? Well, lest you think the problem is over, The Adorable Office Manager (AOM) has lived to fight another day.
Backstory: UWICNTM has a “team” of 2 women that she supervises. I say "team" because we are an office of 9 people and no one else has a “team.” It is my theory that incompetence is the reason UWICNTM needs a team. Anyhow, the most essential thing to know about the "team" is that the "team” is the most important and busiest "team" there has ever, ever been in this office.
Now, in Printer War version 1.0, as you might recall, UWICNTM was bitching (with the correct vocab, natch) about walking 3 feet to get to a printer because the main one was moved ON THE OTHER SIDE OF HER CUBE WALL. (For a recap, see this entry.)
The latest is that our crazy boss was fired (she of the "No Funbags Allowed" club), and her office is now vacant. Our Fearless Development Director (FDD) is now the interim Executive Director, and is going to move into Crazy Boss's office - the only office we have. Another employee is now working in our office in LA, so we have 2 spare desks. So, AOM is reorganizing our 20 x 20 space so that we have a real reception area, and those who work closest together are near each other. (Bonus is that UWICNTM will no longer be NEXT TO ME.)
UWICNTM actually suggested that she move to a desk in the corner, and then AOM decided to move one of the women on UWICNTM's “team” to be next to her in her new spot and thus create a reception area at the front of the office. Here is the exchange that happened this morning:
From: Adorable Office Manager Sent: Monday, October 20, 2008 4:13 PM To: ALL Subject: Desk Moving Day
We are going to be doing some desk rearranging soon and I would like to schedule a day when we can move everyone so that I can coordinate the move with the IT guy and the phone company. My suggestion is that we take care of this while Uptight Woman and Team Member 1 are at the "Big" Event planned by Uptight Woman in November, so the move is the least disruptive to everyone. However, this will require some packing up by Uptight Woman and Team Member 1 before they leave for Danville, but if they are able to pack up ahead of time I am happy to physically move them into their new work stations while they are away. Let me know if this is agreeable to everyone so we can schedule the move asap.
Thank you, Adorable Office Manager
From: Uptight Woman Sent: Monday, October 20, 2008 5:17 PM To: Adorable Office Manager Subject: RE: Desk Moving Day
Where is Team Member 1 moving? I thought it was just me moving to a new spot? I honestly don’t think I have the time to pack up my stuff in between the "Big" Events. I was hoping to do the move after the "Big" Events are over and I can dedicate at least half a day to sorting through all my files to get rid of stuff I don’t need. This will be necessary since I am moving to a smaller space. Also, Can we please get a printer on the other side of the office. Now that I am going to be over there, I would appreciate not having to walk across the office every time I print something.
Mind you, there is a whole group of people currently sitting the whole 15 feet away from the printer, but they have never said anything.
Current obsession: this magically lovely little store in the Mission called Bell Jar. It is the very representation of the broken down Victorian/naturalist style that I am currently into. They sell art, jewelry, clothes, pillows, knicknacks, china, soaps and lotions, animal heads...it's beyond amazing.
One of the things I find endlessly fascinating is office speak. I am not sure at what point we decided that speaking normally in emails, at meetings, and to our superiors was beyond us, but we have certainly taken a vacation from reality. I enlisted the help of several friends (big ups to Rachel and Chris) who are besieged by this non-talk on a daily basis to put together:
The Ultimate Pain Point: A List of Bullshit Things We Say/Hear at Work
Bandwidth = time or work capacity, encapsulated in a term which is virtually limited in a technical sense, leading to the illusion that more time/capacity can be added to a person or people as needed, and by inference equating people to modems, servers and systems
Click n' mortar = the internet counterpart to brick n' mortar, a term for actual physical stores
Headwinds = challenges, except it sounds less like a personal handicap or retardation - rather, something or someone else blows...right into the face of your progress.
Earballs = roughly, the untapped audience that sites with audio and/or video magically acquire by stimulating the sense of sound
Granular/granularity = sugarcoated visibility or micromanagement. Example: Let's get some granularity on this product launch. Rachel, even though you are hired to be our PR person, I'm going to assume you are an idiot and have you compile reports on the minutiae of this project. OR "Don't get take this to such a granular level" = "I have no idea what you're talking about and you're embarrassing me, so dumb it down"
"Let's take this offline" = "I can't be bothered to talk about this right now." Also wrongly implies that we are all "online" when we are really just sitting in a meeting.
Ownership = assignment/responsibility + turning a blind eye to the actual resources or tasks needed to do your job
Pain point = the part of your job/project/work life that makes you want to scream. Example: "What would you say is your pain point in regards to media relations?"
Reach out = the new term for calling someone to ask them a question. Example: "You should reach out to the tech department to explore why your computer has the black screen of death." Wrongly implies that warm hugs will be involved.
Scope creep = the tendency for a project to expand at the same exponential rate as dim-witted insiders can daydream, idealize or make broad mission statements with no real conclusion or purpose.
"The real take-away from the meeting is" = "Everything else is useless shit you'll probably forget anyway."
Nuggets, I am SORRY. I am sorry I abandoned the blog and made it into, as Anne helpfully pointed out, an artifact. I just liked having a blog, but not writing a blog. SO, I have a proposition. I want to invite guest bloggers! You can be a one-time only or a frequent contributor. You can send artwork, a funny picture, a link to something interesting you read, a book report, whatever. If it's interesting, I will post it!
Do we have a deal? I do better with a little help from my friends.
Wow, well, so I’m crap at keeping up with this blog whilst involved in my new job. Yeah, I finally got a new one for those who didn’t know. I’m working in the non-profit industry, in the education field, and I’m directing communications. I’m trying to keep this blog sort of vague to protect the innocent, so I’ll leave it at that.
So I’m in week 3 and I’m learning lessons hard and fast.
Lesson One: My boss is obsessed with tits.
Boss (in front of whole staff): “Your top is too low cut.” Me: “Oh! Um, but I’m not showing any cleavage at all.” Boss: “But you might, if you lean over.” Me: “Oh.”
Mulling this over later, I realized that there is only one straight man in the office, and he’s married and hadn’t been looking at my chest at all. The rest of the office is women and gay men, who are not, to my knowledge, disgusted or turned on by the sight of the top half of my boobs. (I’m sure the bottom half would drive them WILD.)
The next day, Boss made the other woman in the office with breasts (we have a lot of sports-bra-as-regular-bra-wearing flatties in our office) STAPLE her v-neck top together to avoid the appearance of cleavage.
As anyone who as seen me in PR action knows, my power is contained in my funbags. I can’t breathe in these Amish tops I am now wearing, and our A/C-less office is not conducive to the Scarf Art I’ve been trying to attain.
The best part about this is that many of my co-workers look like they are fresh from a workout/camping trip, but it is my Banana Republic-swathed pillows of love that are lending an unprofessional vibe to the office.
Also to note: Boss has NO chest and finds every day A Chico’s Kind of Day. Oh, and don’t forget the adventure sandals. Nothing says Power Broker like adventure sandals.
Lesson two: Say “mobilization of resources,” “collaborative effort,” or “best practices” – get a free pass.
No need to say anything that makes sense. Just use these buzz words and everyone will nod and look pensive. Case in point.
Uptight Woman in Cube Next to Me: Where is the printer that was in my cubicle? Adorable Office Manager: We needed to move it into the accounting office. You can use the one in my cubicle (note: this is on the other side of Uptight Woman’s cube. Literally, she could reach her arm around to the printer without getting up.) or the one in the copy room (note: this is the one we all use). UW: This is not a equitable distribution of resources. AOM: Um, we only have 10 people in the office and 3 printers, 2 of which you can use. UW: I thought we were working on being more collaborative in our decision making process. AOM: This is not a big deal. UW: I will call a meeting to facilitate a discussion about this. AOM: Um. Ok.
And don’t think a meeting wasn’t called. Oh no.
Lesson Three: My boss makes no sense.
Some choice quotes:
“Oh my God, everybody and their brother is pregnant.”
“I don’t have my memory to confuse me.”
“It’s like the old saying…if you put the frog in the pot then start to boil it, he will not notice until it’s too late. However, if you throw that frog in when it’s already boiling, he is like “What are you crazy? This water is boiling!”
“My biological clock is all messed up from traveling to Italy.”
This is just the beginning of lesson learning. Consider my eyes and ears open to further experiences.
You need to watch Mad Men. First of all, you can play a game that is beyond enjoyable, which I like to call WWJHD (What Would Joan Holloway Do?). Who is Joan Holloway, you ask?
THIS is Joan.
Anyway, Joan is a ball-busting, take no prisoners beyotch, and she is as feisty as she is fabulously dressed.
Joan works as an office manager on Madison Avenue, home of the ad men who "created" advertising. The scene is the early 60s, thus the fabulous fashion.
The most shocking thing about this witty, beautiful show is seeing the stories your mother told you about come to life. From the stale, still life of the housewives, relegated to ironing and cooking and not much else out in the 'burbs, to the young working girls, stuck as ass-candy for the working men, this show is a glimpse into our past in a way I've never seen portrayed before. This isn't suffrage and petticoats: this is our mothers, on the job, not very many years ago.
When you watch the interactions on this show (sample: Male Boss to New Secretary: "You should show us you have a waist, honey, and a little leg wouldn't hurt." ), it seems shocking to think of how far we've come. We had a woman run for president this year, and 40 years ago, a woman couldn't be anything other than a secretary without a major fuss. A divorcee was completely ostrocized. A wife had dinner on the table every night and wouldn't ever ask where her husband had been for the last 3 nights. Doesn't it seem CRAZY that Hillary made a bid for P.O.T.U.S. not 45 years after this sort of behavior was par for the course? And isn't it fantastic that it can seem crazy to young woman today?
So, for historical perspective alone, this show is amazing. Plus it has great acting, sets, writing, directing, and compelling characters. Which brings me back to Joan. Joan is sex on a stick and she's a smart cookie. She knows how to work the system.
Tao of Joan
"Any one who you have to convince to be with you isn’t worth convincing."
"All ex-lovers deserve a second chance, with somebody else."
"If you want the girl next door, you should go next door."
"Unlike most girls I know, I succumb to male pressure only when I can get pleasure out of it. The boys around the office tend to feel a little threatened by that."
“I refuse to sit under these damn awful lights during my lunch break. That sandwich is making me sad. Let’s go.”
I like to believe that, in this situation (the situation of being a secretary in a chauvinistic, ego-driven workplace in Manhattan), I'd be a Joan. I know my sassy mom was. She once told me that her boss told her, as a matter of business, that she'd need to give him a BJ. She did NOT oblige. So she had to quit. Another boss had her running errands with him, from meeting to meeting, and then asked her up to one "meeting," which was just a room with a mattress on the floor.
Mad Men airs on AMC, Sundays at 10/9. You can get the first season on DVD. Click here for the official site. WATCH!
Dolores Aguilar, born in 1929 in New Mexico, left us on August 7, 2008. She will be met in the afterlife by her husband, Raymond, her son, Paul Jr., and daughter, Ruby.
She is survived by her daughters Marietta, Mitzi, Stella, Beatrice, Virginia and Ramona, and son Billy; grandchildren, Donnelle, Joe, Mitzie, Maria, Mario, Marty, Tynette, Tania, Leta, Alexandria, Tommy, Billy, Mathew, Raymond, Kenny, Javier, Lisa, Ashlie and Michael; great-grandchildren, Brendan, Joseph, Karissa, Jacob, Delaney, Shawn, Cienna, Bailey, Christian, Andre Jr., Andrea, Keith, Saeed, Nujaymah, Salma, Merissa, Emily, Jayci, Isabella, Samantha and Emily. I apologize if I missed anyone.
Dolores had no hobbies, made no contribution to society and rarely shared a kind word or deed in her life. I speak for the majority of her family when I say her presence will not be missed by many, very few tears will be shed and there will be no lamenting over her passing.
Her family will remember Dolores and amongst ourselves we will remember her in our own way, which were mostly sad and troubling times throughout the years. We may have some fond memories of her and perhaps we will think of those times too. But I truly believe at the end of the day ALL of us will really only miss what we never had, a good and kind mother, grandmother and great-grandmother. I hope she is finally at peace with herself. As for the rest of us left behind, I hope this is the beginning of a time of healing and learning to be a family again.
There will be no service, no prayers and no closure for the family she spent a lifetime tearing apart. We cannot come together in the end to see to it that her grandchildren and great-grandchildren can say their goodbyes. So I say here for all of us, GOOD BYE, MOM.
I was reading my favorite blog, Jezebel, and they brought to my attention a new book called Marrying Anita: A Quest For Love In The New India by Anita Jain.
The story is basically Anita Jain's search for perma-affection and respect after years of trying to date in New York. (According to my girls who live in the magical city, it's brutal. Do. Not. Want. It's bad enough here, and by here, I mean anywhere I've ever lived.)
"To admit to others that I yearned for a long-term commitment or marriage… sounded regressive as soon as it emerged from my mouth," she writes. "It was atavistic in nature, a throwback to a time when women couldn't financially support themselves. It was a piece of treacherous anathema in the age of strong, independent working women."
The fault, Ms. Jain thinks, lies within the process of finding love.
"We are told that it's best to meet friends of friends. We all think this is a brilliant idea, until we realize that we've already met all of our friends' friends ... two years ago."
I wrote about this a couple of weeks ago, when I mentioned that I've never been set up by a friend. I've since decided that this situation is really lose-lose for the friend, unless all they care about is your happiness (trust me, very few are this pure, and if you met such a person, you'd probably want to punch them in the face). If the set up doesn't work out, then the friend has to be in the middle, and makes future social engagements awkward. And if it does work out, all the friend gets is a shoutout in the wedding toast, and, unfortunately, intimate knowledge of the new couples' sexual habits -- that is, before they get married and cease to tell you ANYTHING about the boning, a phenomenon I will save for another post in the future - do remind me.
Anyhow, Ms. Jain points to Western culture as the culprit here:
"For a decidedly unmystical society that seems to have the answer for everything else — the best medical care, cutting-edge technology, superhighways, and space shuttles — it seems odd that people are left to their own resources, casting around for another lonely soul, for what is arguably the most important decision of their lives."
She also talks about the notion of being "happy with yourself before you can be happy with someone else." This gem is spouted almost as much as "when you know you know" and "it happens when you aren't looking." You know what I'm like when I'm not looking? Eating Bagel Chips by the handful with greasy hair and swaddled in ripped PJs from 7th grade, with the laptop glow in my face and some reality show on the TV. Dream girl, right here!
Says Ms. Jain: "Why do we have to be 'perfectly sound' before we can meet someone? Why can't we be desperately alone and unhappy and become much more balanced or healthy after getting involved with someone? We've all seen this happen with friends — 'God, Peter seems so much happier now that he's going out with Jessica. He's not drinking as much.'"
In other words, brilliant. Need to get my hands on this book. Except I think Ms. Jain then goes to India to find a husband through arranged marriage, which a) holds no appeal for me as I don't think I would be attractive in a country that boasts 120 degree heat and many unpaved roads and b) I'm not Indian.
Wow. That was a seriously fun first date! I liked our coy little exchanges via text messaging and email before the date. That got me really revved. I didn’t mind that I had to call you at 6pm on the day of the date to get our meeting time and place out of you since you insisted on planning everything. That was ok. Everyone needs reminding!
I was confused a little by your request to start the date at 9pm, since it included dinner. I don't know if I should start including the information than I'm not a 'rexi on my Match profile. But it's ok, because I keep a stash of applesdried fruit wine on hand to ease the pain.
When I got to the restaurant, I was pleasantly surprised to find you so attractive. Seriously, exquisitely attractive. And you didn’t seem horrified at my appearance. So thanks for not recoiling in terror.
I loved when you found out my dad is a judge (since you’re a lawyer) and were really impressed. Maybe that conjured up some good “Judge’s Daughter” fantasies for you and gave you some good wack-off material for the future.
We had some good zing zing back and forth. Verbally, you were giving as good as you were getting. I also liked that you served the food for me. That was very gentlemanly. And I was laughing. Thanks for bringing joy into the dark place that is my life.
I was a little confused when the bill came and you didn’t offer to cover it, since we’d just gone over my unemployment status. But that’s ok, because as I’ve mentioned, you were really, really attractive, and successful, and pretty damn funny.
I liked how, when we went to the bar down the road, you bought all the rounds and got me nice and soused. I liked it more when you talked to my friend Jill on the phone when she called to check in. “See?” I thought. “This is going great! He’s so funny and he’s joking with my friends!”
My favorite part was when we started making out in the bar. That might have been due to the fact that we were semi-drunk, but I thought it had a lot to do with how much this was just clicking. Also, we both went to Tulane, so we were well trained in the art of the bar make out.
And when we tried to go to another, darker bar, we just made out for like 30 seconds until you said, “I live just up the road.” I did take a semi-coherent second to think, “Wow, I had to take a cab here because you picked the Lower Haight for dinner, and now I see it’s because you live RIGHT here. Huh, guess you didn’t want to go too far.”
Your apartment was really clean, and very cute. Furnished by IKEA, and came with a cat, who you promptly kicked out of your bedroom.
When you showed me your glorified lava lamp that your “artist” friend made for you, I knew you just wanted me to lie on your bed. I liked that you tried to trick me into it though. Good effort.
I’d have to say, though, that the highlight of the date was when you jizzed on my leg while we were making out. It’s nice to know you wanted to give me a little going away present.
When I went into the bathroom to mop up, it was nice to come out and see you fully dressed and standing with your keys in your hand. That made me feel really welcome to stay. And I love having conversations when I am topless and the other person is fully clothed.
It was especially nice of you to then walk with me to get a cab. Since I didn’t have any cash left, I enjoyed a scenic drive to the local ATM, which at 2am, is filled with all sorts of colorful characters.
I’m a little disappointed you never called again, or responded to the funny, breezy email I sent you 4 days later. But that’s ok, because I’m all about the experience, and didn’t I have fun?
So anyway, thanks again for the opportunity to interview to be your girlfriend. Though I would have been honored to represent you, I understand that, at this time, you’re not looking for a funny, smart girl who will give you a hand job and pretend that it’s ok that you didn’t pay for a $50 dinner and that you stained my jeans.
Fog City Lolita
PS – If you find my favorite pair of gold earrings – taken off so you could “get at my neck” – next to your bed on your MALM side table – please mail them to my home address. Kthxbai.
Recently had an interview with a company that shall remain nameless unless you ask me to name them. This was the order of operations:
1) I apply in February for a Director of PR position a hotel/restaurant PR agency. The salary is listed as $55k. To note, I made this at a non-profit in considerably cheaper San Diego, under the direction of an idiot known for criminally underpaying his employees.
2) Then they change the interview time NINE TIMES, many times as I was walking out the door. Mr. Publicist is a very busy man, you see.
3) I finally meet with them at the end of May, where they inform me the salary had gone down to $50k. Everyone has taken a $5k paycut, you see, in the intervening months. It's only fair, they say.
3) Three more interviews commence. They love me (why, of course!), and then they offer me part time work at $20/hr for 10 hrs/week. I say, Uhhhhh I applied for a full time position. Also, I can make that much money babysitting. (And up to $1000/night stripping, says Jon Gordon.)
4) So then they disappear for 2 months.
5) They call me back in August and have me come down because NOW they have a full time position. I ask over email if it is a Director of PR position. Oh yes, they say.
6) And...wow. The position is now for someone with 3-5 years experience (Oh, that's what my 8 years of in-house experience is worth in agency terms, by the by). It's called Account Manager and it pays $38k! They tell me that's competitive.
SAN FRANCISCO (CBS 5 / BCN) ― San Francisco police responded to an attempted robbery near a taco truck in the city's Mission District that left two victims suffering from gunshot wounds and another robbery 20 minutes prior, but no one was arrested.
The attempted robbery was reported near a taco truck at Harrison and 20th streets at 9:28 p.m., where police found two people suffering from gunshot wounds.
The victims were taken to San Francisco General Hospital, where there was no immediate word on their conditions.
Officers had also responded a short time earlier to another taco truck robbery on 16th and Shotwell streets, but no shots had been fired at that location.
Police were investigating whether the two incidents were related.
The guy next to me in Philz Coffee is literally breaking up with someone on the phone.
"I'm sorry I mislead you. I didn't mean to."
"Do you want to still meet up or just talk on the phone?"
This, to me, doesn't seem to be appropriate banter for the coffeeshop. Now, I have definitely lost my shiz in a public place before (See: Drunken, crying rant at boring, bad-in-bed chef in San Jose in front of his restaurant...I felt he wasn't sad enough about me breaking up with him, and I was also sad I'd upped my "number" by sleeping with him, so I started crying). But this seemed like a planned phone call. He called her (I assume it's a her, but I have no real evidence, and this IS San Francisco). He chose to end something amongst hipsters and Phil'z Aromatic Tesora beans. Next to him a dog is licking his owner's leg over and over.
How meaningful could this of been? This is like the time I told my friend Anne to break up with some guy she met at the racetrack. They'd gone on several dates, and it was heating up, but she was over it. She kept putting it off, so I ordered her, at a party, to go in my bedroom and make the call, and that when she came out, I would pour her a drink and we could watch some shitty TV with our friends. Later, I thought, poor guy. But really: is it worse to breakup with someone in a flippant, inappropriate place or to not do it at all?
Or, to take it one step further: what about inappropriate methods of breakup? My worst, by far, has to be Brad, a pasty, sun-fearing, Hawaiian shirt-wearing lump of a UCSD engineering student. Brad suffered from some depression issues, and a bit of paranoia (more annoyingly, he hated a lot of types of food, which I could not stand for).
Night of the breakup, we attend an opening night gala for a play written by a friend of mine. I'd done the PR and knew most people at the party. Brad sat in a corner, very hungry despite all the piles of food (didn't meet his needs, apparently), telling me that "people were staring at him." In a group of theatre people, it would have been shocking if Brad was the most interesting thing to stare at...but anyway. We go into the show, and at the intermission, I look at Brad, who is sweating and shaking. I ask him what's wrong and he says that he is "FINE. I am FINE." I ask if he wants to leave. "No."
So the second act goes on, and at the end, I turn to him and tell him that we get to meet Sheryl Crow, who is a sponsor of the piece. We are standing up to go backstage and Brad demands that we leave. Ooookay.
We drive home and I offer to get him food. He refuses. He climbs into my bed and I go into the bathroom to get ready for bed. When I come out, he's gone. I go outside. His car is gone.
Being the sensible person that I am, I assume he has gone to kill himself. This is a time before everyone had cell phones, and he didn't have one. I stay up all night, calling the CHP, worrying and worrying. At 6am, I call his parents' house (I wish I could say this is the only person I've dated who lived with his parents, post-college, but that would be a "no.") and wake up his poor father. Who says Brad is sleeping and fine. (I then think that he is going to WISH that he'd gone to kill himself.)
Brad comes to phone, half asleep. After a lot of unattractive mumbling, I gather that he'd gone to the car because he was crying. And since I never cry (ha ha), he didn't want to lose it in front of me. So he drove home. TO CARLSBAD (about an hour away). Sweet. Oh, and never wondered if I might be worried about him.
I then basically have to FORCE him to break up with me. It was amazing. He finally says, "I thought you could make me happy but you can't." Put that in your pocket, Ms. Mac!
So that, I'd have to say, was the pussiest breakup ever. Shortly after, the SATC "Berger-Breaks-Up-With-Carrie-In-A-Post-It" episode airs. Would that I'd gotten a Post-it. It almost Austen-ian compared to the alien abduction Brad scenario.
My friends are full of great breakups stories. (If you're good, I'll tell you more. I have soooo many more.) So, let's hear it. What's your worst, lamest, cop-out breakup story, ladies and gents?
PS - I never met Sheryl Crow, but that's ok, since I sort of hate her music. Still, I'm such a star fucker, I feel robbed. ROBBED.
Naked Woman Stops Traffic on I-80 A disrobed lady disrupted traffic this morning on I-80 at around 5:45 a.m. It seems that the fully naked lady was running in and out of traffic willy-nilly on the busy freeway, requiring the CHP and Berkeley police and fire department to bring her down. She was finally taken into custody after jiggling over to the stables at Golden Gate Fields. She has been sent to a local hospital for a medical (and presumably mental) check.
Why I've never been set-up by my friends. Is it because I'm not on the Jew Network? I'd give anything for a bubbe. Or wait. That's not the right word. Yenta. (Side note: I was on JDate for a month. Turns out that saying "My grandmother has been doing a genealogy project and thinks we might be Jewish" isn't legit enough. Also, writing emails to men saying, "Wow, a Jewish doctor. Will I have my eyes scratched out by actual Jewish girls if we go on a date?" didn't seem to work.)
I'm curious, friends. Do tell. Is it that it's really difficult to match me? Or it's too much trouble? Messy? Is it...the goiter?
People complain about this set-up business and I felt left out. I love new things to bitch about.