Things I Could Talk About Vs. Shoes

Apparently we’ve moved on from people finding my blog via “wasp killer meth” and now find me by looking for “mail order husbands”.  Good work everyone!

I could talk about how I got into it with someone who tried to make his own terms on one of my contracts.

Client: Well since we haven’t done business before I think I should put 50% down now and then Net 30 after delivery

Me: That is not the same as Net 30 terms but thanks for playing.

Or I could talk about how I’m pretty sure our kitchen microwave at work has a better personality than half of our accounting department.

Me: You’re such a nice microwave

Microwave: BEEP BEEP!

Me: Why thank you for cooking up my suck-a-licious Lean Cuisine

(seriously, at least the microwave  responds to me while some select members of our accounting teams seem to go mute the moment they see me/have a stroke)

Or I could talk about how one of my best friends has chosen to watch my life via Ben’s Flickr account instead of *gasp* emailing me, texting me, or calling me.  (a story for a different time)

Or I could talk about how our new team member basically walked off the job yesterday because she thinks my coworker and I are gossiping about her and saying very mean mean things behind her back (we aren’t).   And then decided to call in sick today.  Nice.

Or I could talk about how apparently the above mentioned person thinks I’m running some sort of Girl Scout troop because seriously I’m not your troop leader and you’re 40 years old *GET A GRIP*.  What kind of example are you setting for your kid walking off your job and crying about how the people at work are mean?  (And my other coworker tried to talk about this with her. . . I didn’t even know it was happening until someone told me which shows how connected I am to the situation?  We’re what? Um I don’t even have time to gossip about her at work.)   Seriously, we have better things to do then talk smack about our coworkers.  Plus, I work with 30 women, trust me there’s enough hormones in that office that if we were being wenchy there would be an all out parking lot brawl.

Or I could talk about how I’m watching that assclown Dr. Phil who may in fact be sucking out my soul right now. 

Instead lets talk about shoes, because shoes are pretty and I want them and I need them:

 

 

 

 

Anyone Know the Hustle?

From Jackson Hole to a 70’s/80’s Roller Disco in all one week. 

If you had told me a year and a half ago that my life would be this full of such ridiculous entertainment I probably would have laughed at you.  Instead I spent part of my week on a wonderful vacation to Jackson Hole with Ben and Co. and this past Saturday night at a roller disco with some of our awesome friends.  

The glorious roller disco evidence - because nothing says entertainment like a bunch of 20 somethings at a ghetto roller rink (I loved it):

(you love the glasses, I know you do)

(umm. . .thank you Victoria Secret?)

 

I swear to God my mother owned those sunglasses through most of the 80’s.

And no, thankfully that mustache is not real

A Little Bit of Crazy = Time for Vacation

It was implied to me, as my internment at Camp Marriott came to a close today, that I should enjoy this vacation as it may be awhile before I see another one.  Too bad b*tches, I have another one scheduled in April, in a foriegn country, that may or may not have wireless or phone.  Okay fine its Mexico but they don’t need to know that

Tomorrow, Ben and I are headed to Jackson Hole, Wyoming for a week of blissful non-work related entertainment (no wait crap I agreed to do email from Jackson Hole).    Well okay, its mostly non-work related entertainment.   By the way, my ski bag/luggage is big enough to fit a few toddlers ( I don’t mean that in a creepy kind of way-  nor would I pack children in luggage).

Anyhoo, if you need me you’ll find me either skiing or surrounded by a bunch of mid-twenty somethings and a guy with a Peter Pan complex for the next few days. 

Wicky Wicky Wild Wild

I am currently staying at a hotel five miles from my apartment.  Seriously.  Its like I’m being held hostage by my own company except breakfast/lunch/dinner is catered every day, my captors gave us court side seats to the Sonics V Lakers game, and beer showed up during our afternoon session.  Whoop whoop

In all seriousness I do think its a bit ridiculous that I’m staying in the hotel though I also think its wonderful that I have the opportunity to stay here during our sales meeting.  Because really, what sales comes down to is a bunch of networking even if sometimes it gets to the point of ass kissing.  Granted, I’m not very good at ass kissing.  I could play that game all day long if I thought there was some sort of entertainment involved, instead I usually figure you can go get your ego stroked somewhere else . . .ps: just get me my beer already and stop staring at my boobs thx.

Yesterday we had a great speaker and then spent the evening watching the Sonics V. Lakers game court side.  I forgot how much I love watching basketball.  I also still think Kobe is a bitch.  But I don’t actually dislike Kobe enough to yell out “Kobe! You’re still a rapist” like the asshat behind me.  Because really, is that remotely appropriate?  (okay yeah I laughed a little, sue me)

Today we had client sessions and then an awards ceremony.  I stood up and sat down more times during those two hours than I did for my entire Catholic high school experience. (And the award goes to. . .(insert another standing ovation right here) Amazingly enough my coworker and I won and award for being “Impact Players” for our team.  Fancy words for something that boils down to “YOU ARE AWESOME”  Which of course I already knew we were awesome, its written on my arse.  Remind me and I’ll show you sometime.  Just kidding.

I’m actually pretty excited about the award.  For one, I’ve never received a work place award, and certainly not one granted by people so high within our organization.  I even did something kind of crazy, I told a few of them “so when are you moving me to outside sales” and the responses I got were all positive but also scary as I find out they do have plans for me. . .just no one will tell me yet!

Damn it.

Tomorrow I’m leading tours and then sitting through another speaker presentation.  At some point I supposedly get to see the inside of my apartment tomorrow night.  Hopefully I’ll actually get to pack and not find myself on the tarmac of the Jackson Hole airport Friday morning with all my belongings in plastic trash bags because I didn’t have time to pack like a normal person.

Oh and apparently I’m getting a blackberry soon, this is bad because I will be attached to that thing 24/7.  Just kill me if I start walking around Bed Bath and Beyond or Target with bluetooth in my ear.  Can you hear me now? 

Finale to my 25th Year

Since I’m generally failing at updating on a regular basis here’s the quick and unorganized version of the last two weeks:

First, on the 15th we celebrated my 26th birthday in style.  We went to Dragonfish Cafe and then on to Fado’s Irish Pub. Oh yes, I know you’re excited.

Ben took the day off on my actual birthday (20th) and we went downtown for some shenanigans.  We went to the Seattle Aquarium (I heart aquariums), the Starbucks on the 40th floor of the Columbia Tower (it’s a Starbucks and its on the 40th floor - what’s not to like?), and ice skating at the Seattle Center (worst rink in the world but still entertaining).  Ben then surprised me for birthday dinner by taking me to Tulio (awesome - I’m sorry have you not enjoyed dunguness crab ravioli before? Yeah you should get on that. . .)

On the 21st, Ben and I opened our Christmas presents prior to Ben getting on a plane back home for the holidays.  Yes, he got me Uggs. Don’t judge me. My feet are warm!   And no, don’t worry, I won’t be wearing them with my jeans tucked in. . .I’m not 12 or some sort of pill popping suburban mom who still shops in the juniors department at Macys.   :)  He also got me some fantastic perfume for my birthday, and a red clutch, and a weight bag (for SCUBA).  I’m spoiled

On the night of the 23rd my antibiotics tried to kill me.  Nothing says “Merry Christmas” like contemplating asking your roommate to take you to the ER at 3am.   I think I can honestly say I probably lost weight this Christmas.  Stupid antibiotics.   On Christmas I drove to my grandparents house. My grandmother made two of my favorite side dishes (mayo and coolwhip are food groups on that side of the family) which I couldn’t eat since my GI tract was still debating whether or not it wanted to make an exit from my body.   It was exciting. So exciting I left early.  Yeah that sounds bitchy doesn’t it? And don’t get me wrong, while I love my grandparents I don’t love finding out that my cousins’ dog has more pictures in the house than pictures of me.  The reality is I still felt awful from the antibiotic hell-fest of 2007 and for some reason throwing up in my car sounded better than in my grandparents house. 

So there’s the quick little re-cap of the last couple of weeks. 

 

 

 

 

Why I Love Seattle

Dear Seattle,

Why I Love You #45:  Racing the Slut

XXOO

Me

My Not-So-Domestic Side

On the way home from the grocery store last night I called my Dad and told him I wasn’t in the “right place” at work.  Don’t get me wrong, I love my company and I like the project I’m involved in (just not my current capacity), and I think a lot of good things are coming in the future.   However, when I graduated from college I never pictured myself worry about things like an effing cookie exchange at work or some bazillion odd potlucks where my department has competitions with the accounting department.  I just don’t care.  I try to care, but oh wait that’s right, I don’t.

There is no way to explain my feelings on this topic without sounding like a raging b*tch.  My coworkers are awesome and 99% female.  They are great sisters, moms, wives, etc.   They are domestic goddesses (I mean this in a good way).  But the thing is, I went to school, I graduated early,I worked hard, and I want to work in a job where I’m appreciated for my work and not judged on my domestic skills (PS: I make the best Thanksgiving turkey,  and real food that doesn’t consist of four cups of butter and a pound of brown sugar).   All of the women I work with are wonderful wonderful people.  But I want more than that. . .I want more than a damn cookie exchange.

Anyways, I completely forgot about the potluck and since my potluck contributions regularly include things like feta and coos coos I doubt they missed me.**  But today is our cookie exchange and I decided that I should try to take part though I’m currently sitting in my cube afraid they’ll all hate my cookies.

A few weeks back they asked me if I’d take part in the exchange.

Me: Well I make some pretty good chocolate chip cookies

CoWorker:  Chocolate chip cookies? (pause) Well you’ll be the only person making those. . .

Me: (silence)

CoWorker: Everyone else will be making holiday cookies . . .

WTF is wrong with chocolate chip cookies? No one sits around thinking “hmm I really want that crappy cookie I had at the cookie exchange, you know the one shaped like a f*cking snowman with the red sprinkles”  People want normal cookies!!! 

So last night, in the spirit of coworker camaraderie (or an attempt to pretend I care), I made my chocolate chip cookies which I adore and substituted the chocolate chips for festive red and green m&ms.  Because red and green are festive. . .or something.  And I broke down and made some chocolate peppermint cookies.  The jury is still out on those but really how can you dislike chocolate and peppermint together?

At least the boys at Safeway made me feel better when they said that my cookies would rock.  I’m sure there is something fundamentally wrong when one of the highlights of my day comes from some 17 year old bagging my groceries but whatever.

When I worked in advertising we didn’t have cookie exchanges. . .we had cocktail exchanges. At a bar.

** Seriously, I wasn’t aware you could make so many different kinds of meatballs. 

What Baby?!

Like every woman I adore having my yearly physical.  The stirups, the crappy paper that sticks to my legs, and the doctor that wants to chat with me while feeling up my boobs.  I love it.  I’m kidding.  I detest going and only go for the prescription refills.

But here was my “favorite” part of the whole appointment.

Doctor: So I think you should take your multi-vitamin more regularly . . .for the folic acid

Me: Why

Doctor:  For the baby

Me: What baby?

Doctor:  You know, for when you have one

Me: What baby? I live with my college roommate, we have house plants

Doctor: Well as you know folic acid is important for babies

Me: I’m not having one any time soon

Doctor:  You never know, we just want you to be prepared

WHAT BABY!?!

(WTF)

Okay so I get it right? Folic Acid = Healthy Baby.  But on the list of other things we can add to “Healthy Baby” list is not being a chain smoking alcoholic who likes to chew on lead based toys and having sex with strange men.  But hey lets just start with a multi-vitamin mmkay?

Holiday Madness

“We look like whores. . .”

“I think we look like we’re going to rob a bank”

 Oh yes, aren’t we sexy beasts with our poorly made and most likely very flamable santa suits?

I’d like to also thank Mapquest for confusing Eastlake Ave with Westlake Ave.  There is no difference whatsoever, except that minor detail about Eastlake being on the other flipping side of the lake than where I wanted to be. . .damn you Mapquest

And while we may look ridiculous at least we were warm

Company Holiday Parties- Open Bar Si?

 

There is something about company holiday parties that either make me want to boycott off the clock mingling OR just with glee at the prospect of buying something festive yet slutty all while enjoying free food and liquor.

While working in advertising I experienced some amazing parties.  These parties were like an eclectic mix of a Cirque show, Nip/Tuck, and an advertisement for a rehab center. Sure there was a tree in the corner, but no one cared because we were too busy eating expensive steak and taking bets on who was doing lines in the bathroom (I kid you not).  No less than three open bars at any one time.  And chance are later you would be hit on by some VP who liked to converse with boobs.    (Oddly enough the second year’s party was at a bowling alley. . .yet everything else was pretty much the same “activity” wise).

I left advertising and ended up at a software company.  Lets just say the Christmas party scene was a bit different.  The first year douchebag *cough* my ex went with me and we had a pretty decent evening (this was of course before I decided to see through the bullsh*t and started recognizing that a 1.7% success rate at NOT disappointing me was still a 98.3% rate of douchebaggery.). 

The second year at this company I went alone (I was single and loving it).  Like a champ.  I could have cared less if they were serving McDonalds at this dinner as long as I could get in and out in record time.  The highlight of dinner was watching some guy take out a table made out of faux deer antlers.  Okay actually that party was pretty funny. 

I bailed out pretty early from last year’s party to end up at a birthday party of someone I didn’t even know so I could check out/hang out with a guy.  That guy is Ben.  I figure bailing out on that party worked in my favor right?

This year there is a 50/50 chance of my current company’s party driving me to drink.  You see, I’m not working in advertising, I’m not working in a small company with a VP who likes to get his drink on, instead I work with no less than 40 women. 40 women who enjoy things like candles, Tupperware parties, and decorating their cubes for an effing “holiday cubicle festive crap contest.”  Okay they don’t call it that, but seriously it looks like a craft fair died in our office.  And while I’m impressed. . .yeah I’m not into putting a fake fire place in my cube. Oh and I’m boycotting the White Elephant game to order things like a White Russian at the bar.

:)