December 19, 2008

Work Life Balance for Realio


Last night at my office party, there was an erotic belly dancer putting on a show in reception. There were also crazy holiday hats, models, a bartender who thought rum was the same as vodka, and I hung out in the studio and chatted about slacking off and boxing. Sometimes I have to wonder, where the eff do I work?! I would go on about this, but I have a serious fear that someone I work with will find my blog or maybe they already read it. I mean it is on the internet after all. If you work with me, and you are reading this, you should know that I have nothing but good things to say. I'm also a little taken aback and there is a weird look on my face sometimes because I'm not used to unconventional jobs. Well that isn't true. I once worked at a drug dealing Italian restaurant. I've also worked at Late Night Penn State: The Craft where mostly Asians and a few Dungeons and Dragons fans would come and paint cheap wooden things and ask me how to make green (Go back to Kindergarten and then ask me). However, more recently, I worked in corporate hell and it's nothing like this new gig. I'm working from home right now! WHAT!

Except I'm so blonde that I forgot to save one of the documents I need to my desktop. You mean I can't connect to the network from my couch? Damn. To my credit, I packed up my computer after two drinks and a sip of the brand new fad, "Bacardi and Soda Water." So delicious.

My best and most long-term friends are coming to visit tomorrow. I've known Erin since I was 3 and then I met Kirby in 2nd grade. Then I introduced Kirby to Erin and Kirby introduced us to Tiff in 5th grade. Then I had home room with Alison and Schramm in 6th grade and Alicia moved to Pen Argyl in 9th grade. The senior class trip sealed the deal and we're sisters now! Corny? Yes. But I don't care. So I was explaining the joys of Hoboken compared to the city, and I think I hit the nail on the head. Hoboken is the 6th borough of Manhattan, but it has more Villanova fratastic financial types as well as these.

I had a really horrible week, what with being sick and my crazy mother and other stressful things, involving drinking, but then I talked to my awesomeness equivalent and personal adventure motivator last night, and now I'm just excited for trips and moving to South America and buying my own slot machine. You know who you are! Do you even read this?

Okay enough procrastinating. I have to do research and then schlep into the city for a Darden girls reunion of shopping, sledding, gossiping and joyness. I LOVE SNOW and FRIDAY.. and working from home :)

December 17, 2008

Postcards From Yo Momma


WHAT! I just got the daughter's equivalent to a Dear John letter. No, my mom did not break up with me while I was away at war in 1944. She got married. F*cking A Scott! 

November 26, 2006: Almost exactly two years ago, I wrote an uncensored letter to my mom and never sent it. To sum it up, I feel like the responsible adult a lot of the times, like our roles are reversed. When I'm at home, I step up to the plate and put on a straight face. When I'm on my own, I'm reckless and moody because it's my way of dealing with the stress of holding it all together. My grandfather (her father) actually comes to me with advice about fixing things in the family and how I have to be responsible and not let them down. It was my job to get my angsty mom to stay in PA and not date him and to make sure my sisters know how to do the right thing and stay in school and not get tattoos. Clearly I failed in almost all of the above, so the least I can do now is get married soon to the perfect man with German roots, chivalry, a successful career, a good family, and knowledge about cars..... (I wish that was sarcasm)

So here's how the letter never sent ended: "I'm asking you to cut the crap, Mom. Stop bullshitting around and acting like a child. Stop pretending to be like the immature asshole you claim to want to spend your life with. Snap out of it. Do what you want, but let me know. Thanks." What I meant was TALK TO ME. Don't write to me after the fact. 

I've developed a poker face neutrality towards my mom's boyfriend after about 13 years of hell. When they move to Seattle, she already knows I won't go to her house unless I know for certain that he is out of the country on business and I have a copy of his plane ticket in my hands. I don't hate him. I feel bad for him, because he's so immature and hostile. I even stand up for him to my family who actually can't stand him. However, this would not be the kind of marriage I would celebrate with a glass of champagne and a tear and a giggle followed by some dancing to "Sweet Caroline." No, it's more like I will punch a pillow and vent in a blog, while the little sister freaks out and the middle sister takes shots of natural grain alcohol from a medicine dropper (we get a yearly supply for our Momma).

Maybe I should send this letter. Funny how it still applies, only now I can say "Congratulations on traveling to Reno last weekend to marry the only person in the world that makes my stomach contract and begin gnawing at itself as a sign that I should "Fight or Flight." I'm so happy I couldn't get ahold of you on Saturday and was worried about you all weekend because no one knew you were in Reno. Or maybe you were in Vegas. That's classy. Nice move. I talk to you almost everyday, yet you never thought to mention that, oh hey, I'm getting legally married this weekend. Thanks for the heads up. I'm sorry if I don't keep the lil memo you sent and I'm sorry if we post it online. If I were to stoop to your level, I would totally go to Vegas and get married and then send you a postcard. No, actually, to be fair, I would start wearing a ring and put a picture of me and a guy in front of a wedding chapel in the living room for the next 5 years and just make you wonder without answering questions. 

THEN I would send you a postcard. "Dear Mom, I want you to be happy always and follow your heart. I got married when I was 13 years old to someone I know you don't like. He's an asshole, but I'm in love and I see someone that no one else can see because I have divine perception. I'm going to move to Germany and change my name so don't bother staying in contact. I love you so much that I might give my next child your name as their middle name. Yes, I already have children too. I hid them in my closet. I love you always, more than you know, Ellyn xoxo"

I mean I knew this day would come, I just never thought I'd have to hear about it through my sisters who got little note cards bearing the news. I'm sure my letter is chillin' in the mailbox too, but I think I'll go take a nap now. All this fuss has rendered me exhausted. 

December 16, 2008

Torture Tuesday After Rockin the Free World


I'm now taking requests. This one goes out to J9.

Dow Jones and Company invited me to see the Neil Young concert last night. Well actually they invited my boss, but he couldn't go so he asked if I wanted to and if I "even know who Neil Young is." The answer is yes. I kind of had to man up about going though, because I apply his music to a certain disastrous relationship. I made myself listen to "Old Man," "Southern Man," and "Down by the River" all week to develop a tolerance, so to speak.

I was still recovering from the weekend, but I was thinking the night would be pretty chill. We had box seats with Barrons and Wall Street Journal, which conjures pictures of cigars and stock talk. When I walked into the suite, there were three reps who just got back from taking "SHOTS!!" Awkward laugh. Really? Lesson 1. Never let a sales rep make your drinks. Especially never let a male sales rep make your drinks after he has taken shots. I politely downed a cranberry vodka that must've had half a cup of Grey Goose in it. Then I made a fake drink with only soda water in it. Either I have tolerance issues and my liver no longer processes alcohol or I can no longer tell how strong my drinks are. Anyway, we chatted with the reps and one kept shouting "you shoulda brought your mom!" I got a text from my mom that said "I'm very envious," and he was apparently excited about that. We didn't talk about the account at all, which is fine but somehow (note I am at least 10, if not 20 years younger than all of the reps and I'm the only client there) we ended up yelling at the stage, "FREE WORLD!!!!! PLAY FREE WORLD!" I do love the harmonica.

Neil was pretty friggin hipster, wearing Walmart acid washed jeans. He may or may not have had a mullet. Wilco opened and they were awesome. I actually zoned out and almost fell asleep. Neil played for at least 2 hours. Maybe longer. All I know is that I left at 12:30 and the guy was still playing. Isn't he like 80 years old? God, he's so damn cool. Somehow I had the worst hangover of all time. Maybe the top shelf liquor was too much, but I swear I had 2 drinks made by the rep. I made a weak drink for myself and then I had half a Heineken. That's really not enough to make me sick, but sure enough I cursed the stock market all day long and whined a whole lot. Unreal. Then we had our grab bag dirty Santa exchange at work. My secret random gift for the pile was an Absolut gift set. Somehow I wound up with a Homer Simpson Chia Pet.

Torture Tuesday never lets me down...

J9, not sure if I represented the evening very well, but honestly that's all I got. At least the rage is gone!

December 11, 2008

Modern Art: Booze, Bums, and Bimbos?


To set the scene, imagine it's pouring in Manhattan and parked cars are actually sitting in a foot of water. It's also 38 degrees and December. Naturally, a perfect evening for gallery hopping in Chelsea. Who knew that there are more than 200 modern art galleries between 16th and 27th Streets? Today was a heads up, gold star day for NYC.

Act I, in which we get out of work at 5pm and are actually too early for the exhibit openings. Janine and I walked into a few galleries and wandered around. When uncomfortable, I start laughing hysterically. We didn't stay in the first gallery for very long because there was an odd little number with children and dildos and also there was no wine. From there we went to a few more galleries near 24th Street, including my favorite exhibit by Peter Callesen, "Folded Thoughts." I imagined Peter being 25 years old and from Brooklyn, but in reality he is 40 and Danish. He works with paper as his primary medium, and someday his art will be in my bedroom, even if the artist himself is a bit out of my league: http://www.petercallesen.com/index.html

Act II, in which it is now 6pm and the galleries close for the openings...huh? We got lost in a building with a locked elevator and upside down signs and then assumed we probably were the exhibit and I wondered where the funhouse mirrors were. Jokes on us. We're live art. Can the pretentious and curious art observers find their way back to the street? We did! Then we went to a real live opening at the Stellan Holm Gallery of Martin Mull's "Seven Deadly Sins." I thought it was a photo exhibition, however it turned out to be realistic paintings that, I couldn't help but notice, each cost more than my annual salary. We had a plastic cup of wine and then scurried across the street because we saw a giant Paris Hilton painting.

Now the fun really begins. I should've been concerned when they were serving bottles of Yuengling (hard to chug). I should've noticed that the scruffy artistic weirdo wishing me happy holidays was really homeless and taking advantage of the booze. Instead, I kept scolding myself to "stare at a painting, stare at a painting" so I wouldn't stare at the tall man wearing a blazer with horses on it and a green felt hat or the woman with a bad dye job taking his photo or the baby screaming from across the room. I had to tell myself to contemplate Paris Hilton's ass, so I wouldn't eavesdrop on a conversation about Ghandi. When we finally finished our beer and left, I was sort of in shock from being in a totally different world. It's scary that I'm more comfortable with sales reps than I am with art collectors... or whoever they are. I should note that I studied art from age 11 until I graduated from high school. I took private classes and all that jazz and I have an "art seal" on my diploma, however this particular art scene left me feeling sorta flustered!

Act III in which we go to class? We went to the Lehmann Maupin Gallery. I was feeling silly from the Paris Hilton "experience" and I was just about to spit my wine onto a painting from laughing when the gallery attendant said, "We're about to begin!" Oh Jesus. So then Tim Rollins and his team, Kids of Survival, talked about their work for an hour. 50% of it was very interesting and I might even think about it sometime, but the other half was basically in Yiddish. I have no idea what they were saying. All I know is that Tim is somehow from Maine and the Bronx, his 15 year old assistant looks exactly like McLovin and the other one was so attractive and had such a perfect jawbone that it would've been hard to decipher the Yiddish even if I could speak the language.

We didn't know if Tim was gay or straight or insane or smart or what. He talked about his students "coming to him" and how he lived in the Chelsea Hotel once because he thought Warhol still lived there. Then he kept talking about a metamorphosis symphony and I just kept staring at the jawbone and telling myself to think of dead puppies so I wouldn't laugh out loud and get called on in class.

Act IV in which we cannot believe the evening and end up in the Trailer Park Lounge & Grill for a nightcap of draft beer and nachos. This city never ceases to surprise me.

P.S. Susan, please move into my converted living room and work in a gallery so I can go to all of the openings and you can pour me complimentary wine! No, but really. It's amazing.

December 10, 2008

Marshmallows


I just had corn syrup and sugar for dinner and now I'm watching TLC in the living room without climate control, while researching whether or not I can microwave certain foods or not. I wound up on this website which makes me happy to be a girl: www.wannabebigforums.com

I went to CVS after work to buy light bulbs and hot chocolate. But I specifically needed Swiss Miss Marshmallow Lover's Hot Chocolate and a certain size light bulb. Of course they only had gross Nestle, but it was 2 for $3 and then of course I got the wrong size light bulbs. I can't have hot chocolate without marshmallows (duh), so I bought a bag of them. That's the thing about NYC. When you want something, you're so used to the instant gratification of going out and getting it, that you can't settle for something else or just forget about it. So I had hot chocolate with way too much water in it and wayyyyy too many mini marshmallows on top. It was good until it wasn't.

Also at CVS today (it was rather eventful), I encountered the two most annoying children ever. They were not cute at all. Normally I love kids. When I play with my little cousins, I actually want kids. Right now I'm watching John and Kate plus 8 and I adore those kids, except for Mady because she's abrasive. However, these CVS children were so grating on my nerves that I thought about joining a convent. They were probably 4 and 2, but they had stupid names (a girl named Eddie? Are you serious?) and they were crying and playing with the credit card scanner and climbing on the magazine racks. They were just abnormally repulsive, probably because their mother stepped off the pages of Good Housekeeping.

Tomorrow I'm attempting an art gallery bar tour. Well really it's just that galleries give you complimentary glasses of wine, but if you go to enough galleries.....
http://artcards.cc/

I'm getting to the point where I don't want to go to sleep, because my nightmares are so awful. I feel like a child. I'm eating marshmallows for dinner and having nightmares. Where's my mommy?

December 2, 2008

I suck at Craigslist


Tonight I went to Beauty Bar near Union Square. I got a cosmo and a green manicure and I learned that the place really used to be a beauty salon and about 10 years ago, they made it into a bar. The vintage salon chairs are still there and walls are sparkly! It was kind of like being in a secondhand speakeasy. Now there are Beauty Bars in San Fran, Vegas and LA, but NYC is the legit original.

I also learned that you can literally find everything on Craigslist. I got my job on there, but you can also get paid to have someone experiment with your hair, you can make friends, go on an art gallery bar tour and even get an audition! That's the other thing. I live in freaking New York City. I'm the kid who wanted to be a writer and an actor, and instead I'm a media planner. What am I thinking?! The least I can do with my extra hours every evening is audition or take classes. Note to self: cut the crap and start taking advantage of the center of the world....I'm such a slacker!!!

December 1, 2008

When did I become a client?!



So when did I grow up? No really. Today I was almost wearing a suit and I went to Bloomberg to meet with about 6 sales people...alone. While I was sitting in the lobby, which looked like the place in which George Jetson worked (Spacely Space Sprockets?), I actually started laughing at myself. When did I stop being the 12 year old kid crying because I had a piano recital or the 17 year old blasting Hanson and JLo out of the 78 Buick? I mean I'm not taking it seriously and because of that I can have fun with it. I prefer to think of it as performing, rather than working. Except when I'm actually in a cube. Then it's pure, rat in a cage, labor.

There was this giant metal cloud at Bloom that means the future is unpredictable and out of our control. Who knew that the stock market believes in destiny? Also who knew that Michael Bloomberg got fired from his early job at Salomon Brothers for gross incompetence (huh?!) and was given a $10 million severance package before he started his own damn company and then went on to become the mayor. Since he already makes so much money, he apparently only accepts $1.00 a year for his state service. Yes, a dollar. So I got the tour of the Bloomberg building because I am in fact.. the client, and then I met with people from TV, radio, online, and print. A few random people popped in to meet me too, including an old guy called "The Senator." I'm not sure, but I think they were surprised to see that I'm really just a kid. This is what happens when you're on job and title three in a less than 2 years. Scary.

Then I went home and now I'm watching "First Class All the Way" on Bravo because who knows? Maybe I'll have a huge ego one day and I'll terrorize travel agents to the point that they have to travel along with me and my empty shell Wall Street baller betrothed to make sure we're satisfied. Until then I'm gonna keep smoke and mirroring my way to the weekend...maybe pick up a few tricks, swindle a few checks! Not really.