Career Girl

Big Big News...

Hi all! If you've noticed that I've been MIA lately here's why...
Dun dun dun...I've decided to move my blog!
I was approached by one of my favorite websites who asked if they could host the blog on their site. They think it's entertaining and funny and something that their readers can relate to blah blah blah.
Anyway, after making them swear up and down to keep my identity private - I decided to go for it.
It is going to make my life easier (I can just email my entries in - no more uploading) and it will expose me to new readers (which is mucho importante to someone as ahem, self involved as yours truly).
I hope you'll follow me over there and continue our love affair.
Wait, did that sound desperate?
If you want to follow me over there, that'd be cool. If not, also cool. Equally cool actually. More cool - if you want to know the truth.
(link below)

If you think someone is semi-cool set them free, if they come back to you, be like, "Oh hey... cool." If not, be like "oh cool, I guess it was like never meant to  be."

yours,

CG.
ps: if you have any trouble with the above link just go to wwww.worksnw.com/blog/

Afternoon Delight Without The Delight Part

2:33pm

Just  back - heart racing. Details to follow.

At about noon, Mister Man (office crush extraordinaire) stuck his head into my office and said (super casually), “hey do you want to sneak out for lunch?” And I was all, “absolutely!” (Immediately cursing myself for the over-eager response).

He: “Cool, meet in the lobby in 30?”

Me: “Sounds good” (sounding marginally less creepily psyched).

Cut to – out on the street – walking/talking. He’s all excited about this amazing factory in India he found where the women handcraft everything blah, blah, blah and it’s like a hippy-commune paradise or something (but with bindis). Details shmetails, I was looking at this hair. Yes, that’s right… while he talked about human rights and fair trade, I was wondering “what kind of magical product does he use? Is it a mousse? Is it a gel? Must… know… product.” Does that make me officially, a shallow a-hole? Hush your mouth! It was a rhetorical question.

Anyway, next thing I knew, we were stepping into the Ritz–effen-Carlton, at which point I promptly broke into a cold sweat. I thought I was going to have a heart attack, until I saw that we were going to BLT Market and not the front desk. BLT was packed but we got a table right away. It was noisy and super well lit - not at all the setting for a clandestine tryst so I relaxed a bit. We ate (my salad was divinely inspired, but I digress). The rest is a bit of a blur. All I could think about was the fact that above us were countless luxury hotel rooms, and that if we wanted to - we could be in one less than five. Then, I wondered, how did we get a seated so fast? Did he make a frigging reservation? Ohmigod, did he plan this? Is he busting a move???

Punchline? Nothing happened. So why do I feel like something major just went down?

 

You can call me, call me anytime. Call me!

You can call me, call me anytime. Call me!

11:01am

So Bloke and I have been talking on the “phone” (in reality, we Skype via laptop as it’s free whether he’s in Europe, Japan or Cleveland). And to be honest we’re talking a lot more now that we are broken up than we were when we were together. Just goes to show that no matter how old you get, the rules of dating will always be completely ridiculous. Do not count on age to bring dignity into the situation cause it ‘aint gone happen child. Anyway – now that he’s not my boyfriend, it’s like the dark veil of jealousy has lifted and I’m me again. He, on the other hand is back to being totally hilarious and cracking me up with stories about his band mates, their various conquests (something that I would not have been even mildly amused by mere weeks ago), and subsequent emergency penicillin shots. So anyway – we talked for three hours last night which is why I’m having a hard time keeping my head off the keyboard this morning.

Conclusion – when it comes to love, I am still my junior high self.

Fee-Fi-Fo-Felly… Kelly!

4:55pm

I’ve been busy rediscovering the joy that is Kelly. He has stepped up to the plate and is totally showing up for me ever since the Bloke debacle crash-landed. Obviously the Petunia emails have been keeping us laughing. But, as always, there’s more. He also showed me  evidence that perfect Caroline has a bit of a pill problem, which is seriously dreamy (I know I’m going to hell – save it for someone who gives a damn). I guess she’s developed quite the dependence on Ambien, and recently took a Jersey joy snooze-ride in her parent’s Mercedes (of which she has no memory, as she was under the noddy-nod at the time). Anyway – Kelly knows because she’s been getting tons of legal correspondence via email (I guess she crashed into the next door neighbor’s great-room, and then got out of the car and went foraging around for snacks). Yum! I wonder if she’ll have to do community service. Cackle!

The Spell Breaker

11:15am

So I have this theory about the first post break up hookup. Basically, a woman can’t begin to move on and break the broken hearted spell her ex has placed on her, until she has her first serious post breakup makeout session. I’m not saying that making out with any old shmo will cure a broken heart. I’m just saying it’s the first step back to your former sassiness. It helps re-awaken the fun girl who’s been hibernating inside you while you snuggled on the couch with Ben and Jerry. Suddenly, you take off your heart-break blinders and realize the streets are teeming with cutie pies. It’s like Sleeping Beauty, bu-cept with your virginia.

Now I know what you are thinking. You are thinking, “CG, an awful lot of your solutions to life problems are slutty in nature.” To that I say simply. Um… true. But hey, I just do what works. I’m not picky.

My point? I went out with Ali last night and ended up making out for like an hour straight with a cute, but way too young model/actor dude who I’d never be interested in in real life. I’m not gonna lie, I’d drool over him in real life, but boys like that need way too much attention for my taste (Snore. No seriously, your hair looks great!). Anyway – I think he broke it for sure because I’ve been feeling extremely frisky ever since. So ok, it’s only been about 10 hours. But still.

Phooey! That’s right, you heard me!

9:50am

Everybody looks so amazing. When did they have time to shop for these friggin summer outfits? Seriously! Ugh. Can you tell I’m feeling poopy-pants today? It’s harder to camouflage low self esteem in this heat! In the winter, I’d head straight for my baggy black turtleneck sweater. What can I wear with this mood now? Chunky sandals? A vintage Robert Smith T-shirt? Crap, I’m crabby! I miss my little sister. I’m craving the Midwest and the burger bangs of summer.* Must plan a trip home – if only to remind myself that I’ve still got it.

*For the uninitiated, burger bangs are something I miss the hell out of as they remain largely a regional phenomenon. My sister and I bonded over the feeling of hair superiority they gave us – which is why we’d while away a summer day playing, “I spy a burger bang.”

 

*The burger bang is comprised of three tight curls at the forehead (one under two back). Occasionally, the curls are picked out and feathered, but more often left untouched - so that each curl holds the exact shape of the iron that birthed it.

1 - tight curl under = bun

2 - tight curl going back = meat

3- second tight curl going back = bun

End result – delicious!

Woodstock '08

Ali and I went upstate for a little chill out/heartbreak weekend. A friend of hers has a hundred year old farmhouse that she let us borrow. I have to admit it was pretty and relaxing. But I don’t think I was ready for pretty or relaxing. I wasn’t ready to be alone with my brain thank you very much. At this stage, peace and quiet only serve to create a better atmosphere for obsession and agony. Ok I realize I’m being dramatic. I’m glad we got away even if it was a little too pastoral for words. We did go on an amazing hike and I forgot about everything for an hour or two, so that’s progress right? I spent the rest of the weekend writing Bloke’s name in a notebook and doodling arrows with hearts through them. Just kidding. But yeah, lots of angsty reflection and yes… the festival of snacking continues.

 

 

 

Baby’s got snack

As we all know my coping mechanisms aren’t as refined as they perhaps should be for a person of my age and station. We all know I like to have a cocktail and a flirt/snog when I’m down in the dumps. We all know that I’m prone to make out with the inappropriately stupid, or young, or semi-stinky - particularly when my ego is up on blocks. What you may not know  (it came as a bit of a shock to me) was the snacking issue. You know those women who waste away when their hearts are broken? Who can’t eat or sleep or apply blush? I am not one of them. No, it turns out that in between moans and theatrical sighs, all I want to do is eat and sleep. Nor do I look pale and drawn. I am as healthy as a horse (and will weigh nearly as much if I keep this up). Ali and I agree that if I’m going to be eating my feelings, I should at least attempt to keep it gourmet. It’s one thing to sob my way through a delicate pear tart, but the minute I tear into a box of Hostess or Enteman’s is the minute that the whole thing becomes a trailer tragedy

Sniffle

10:02am

Well... it sank.
Our little ship built from scraps of scruffy hair and skinny jeans, stuck together with whiskey and Orbit gum has gone down, down, down, down. Last night, at about midnight, Bloke called and pulled the plug. Actually I was the technical plug puller but it was obvious that he’d opened the door and was standing there like a gentleman holding it open and was only letting me slam it as a courtesy. He said he didn’t think that things were going so great and what did I think blah blah blah. Cut to me saying, “I don’t think we should do this anymore.” He said that he was still crazy about me but that the whole long distance thing was all of the bad parts of a relationship and none of the good parts. I agreed. I got off the phone first, even though I wanted to stay on forever and keep him talking through the night like a hostage negotiator waiting for the cops to break down the backdoor. Anything so that it wouldn’t be sewn up. But old habits de hard and I shifted into self preservation mode and said that I had to get some sleep. Pride is such an ass kicker.
So it goes without saying that I’ve got the blues. My new office is much harder to sneak out of than my old office - being that it is an actual office rather than a glorified hallway. So I’ve been taking lots of bathroom breaks to cry, dry and reapply. This blows to the tenth power. Luckily Ali has cleared her social calendar for me and has a 46 hour, relationship detox planned that she says will have me saying “Bloke who?” before he even calls to get his records back.

A Tepid Recap

11:27am

Went to see Bloke this weekend and although we did have a fabulous shagathon, the rest of the trip was tepid at best. All this bickering has created an awful energy between us and I’ll just let you guess who doesn’t have the power in the relationship anymore. Yes, the fact that I have repeatedly gotten pathetic coupled with my awareness of recent pathetic-ness kept whirling around in my brain, making me less secure than ever. It was not festive. Even when we were having sweet, basking in the afterglow moments it was there - the 400 pound gorilla. It’s one part jealousy… one part absence… and one part her - the Amazon princess of tour management. I didn’t even see her this trip, as she was taking the weekend off (probably to shoot the cover of Maxim or visit her identical twin sister Angelina). But it didn’t matter that she wasn’t around. She’s not really the problem now is she? The problem is my thinking. If only knowing it were enough to change it…
Anyway the visit went smoothly – no catastrophic events. But it was bitter-sweet, like I was already mourning something. Hopefully this is just a phase that we won’t even remember a year from now.

Exhibit A

10:10am

Below is an email that Kelly just forwarded me from my team-mate “Petunia” regarding her malfunctioning computer. This is completely unedited. Sometimes I love the world.

To whom it may concern in the IT department,

I guess you think you’re pretty funny. You know, some of us actually have to work for living.
Not everyone can hang out in the basement and play jokes on people all day long.
Please stop crashing my computer!!!

Thank you,
(real name removed to protect the crazy-clogs)
Petunia.

Ladies and Gentlemen we have ourselves a lunatic!

4:50pm
Yep – Kelly was right all along (how could I ever have doubted him?) about there being a nut in every office. She revealed herself to me this afternoon after the strat meeting. Let’s just call her Petunia. Don’t sass me! I pick the pseudonyms around here – and I say Petunia it shall be!
Well anyway, it’s no wonder that I couldn’t sniff her out. Her ingenious disguise is her complete and total ordinariness. She has an overwhelmingly beigey disposition (and look) which successfully threw me off her crazy trail until now. Let that be a lesson to all aspiring sociopaths – speak softly and wear lots of oatmeal colored sweaters. In the matter of an hour I learned that:
a. At age 45 she still lives with her mother.
b. She forgot to take her pill today.
c. She has recurring dreams about how bologna is made.
d. She’s trying to get security to install a camera in the supply closet to get to the bottom of “whatever’s going on with the staple refills.”

I’m just going to stop there.
Anyway, I called Kelly and said, “found ‘er,” and hung up. He was in front of my desk in less than five laughing his ass off. He says I’m not going to believe the emails she sends the help desk. I can’t wait!

Keep On Crushin

5:05pm
My office crush is officially official. Yes – I too see the correlation between this and the shitstorm I’ve created between Bloke and me. But it’s a chicken/egg situation and I can’t remember which one came first (nor do I give a toss). But let me be clear – this is not the sort of thing one wants to see go somewhere. This is simply the sort of thing that one needs to – say - keep one’s self from putting one’s head in the oven. I’m talking about that unconsummated energy that makes the corporate world keep spinning. Without it there’d be way, way, way more hair pulling, more lying on the floor and kicking, and ultimately – many more take this job and shove it speeches. But I digress.
Here’s the thing… Homeboy has one helluva haircut. But wait, there’s more. I’ve told you he looks like a mofo in a suit right? Well it’s out of control. Besides the suits themselves (which I’m guessing are in the first-last–and-security neighborhood, price-wise), he manages to pull together all these fabulous elements to go along with it. We are talking dreamy ties, dreamy sock, dreamy cufflink thingies, dreamy pocket squares. What’s that you say? Your virginia just froze over due to the many unsexy items I just listed? Well… ehhhhh… You have a point. But trust me – on him it really works!

Have You Ever….?

11:45am
Have you ever had an intensely paranoid dream that your boyfriend was cheating on you, or your best friend was talking behind your back – and you either overhear her, or walked in on him/them, and the whole thing spiraled downward and eventually the filmstrip of devastation ended but the dreamstate lingered on and on, because you couldn’t will the dream into editing in a revenge scene, and you couldn’t wake up, so you just had to let the waves of pitch-black-moaning-nothingness wash over you until your alarm finally went off?
Really? Did your version have a score by Bjork?

Well I’d love to hear how you handled it – because I handled it like a crabby toddler at a five star restaurant. It started badly, got awful bad in the middle, and ended baaaaadly. Here’s a rundown of my adorable behavior.

1. I woke up angry and suspicious after my sucky dream. Yes dream. Not anything that may have happened in – say – real life. (oh newsflash – I had the cheating boyfriend dream, not the smack talking girlfriend dream – yes I know, you’re shocked).
2. Called up Bloke and started baiting him with suspicious comments until I drove him batshit.
3. Fell into shame spiral because I could not believe I was acting like such a nut.
4. Called him back pretending to be sane and repaired the damage. But make no mistake, the residual shiza is piling up all around us due to this, and similar debacles. It’s getting old for both of us. So even if he is a big cheater, and turns out to be totally in love with his Amazon tour manager – this is not worth flushing my dignity over repeatedly.

The Purse Shaped Hole In My Soul

Well, it’s official, I have full-blown spring fever. But this time instead of the usual desire to hump the leg of every guy I pass on the street, I can not seem to stop shopping. I think I’m just so happy to be able to wear pretty clothes. This winter was long, gray and uninspiring. Ohmigod it’s getting bad y’all! Things are still touch and go with Bloke. Even the pettiest fight takes on new significance when the other person is thousands of miles away. So maybe that’s why I’m drowning my sorrows in handbags and sandals and frocks oh my. Do you think? Anyway I’m planning a sad return to the soup diet as I type.

SORRY SORRY SORRY

To my 5 and a half loyal readers - my sincerest apologies. I have a week and half of posts sitting here that have not gone out as they should have. They've all been hanging out in typepadland as "drafts" rather than posts. Normally this wouldn't have gone unnoticed by moi for so long - but as you know, my new position is kicking my proverbial badonkadonk and I'm slippin up here and there - FORGIVE!
I am posting them all now - which I know will seem weird - but trust me it would seem weirder if I were to hang on to them and dole them out slowly (I'd rather have all of us on the same page thank you very much).
Love love
CG.

Pretentious Foods

5:50pm

I don’t know about you guys but I have a very pedestrian palette. I am not ashamed to say that down market foods are generally my fave. I’m very dude friendly in this way, and can happily survive in a tour bus eating only fluorescent foodstuffs for up to seven days (at which point I waddle off the bus and pour a jar of multivitamins down my throat). Anyway, I can accept that many of the fancier food out there are legitimately delicious to others. But there are a few things that I honestly wonder if anyone really likes. Or, are they just trophy foods that one has to automatically add to ones menu-rotation once one’s salary creeps toward the mid six figures? 

Things I accept that people actually like (but I hate)

1. Pate
2. Truffles
3. Escargot

 Things I sometimes think people are gagging down in an effort to appear richer

1. Caviar
2. Foie gras (yes I know this is just pate + torture)

Sure, some of you will insist that caviar is beyond yummy - but would you still be singing that song if Beluga were a buck fifty a pound?

And another thing – it just so happens that I don’t automatically find meals tastier when they’ve been molded into a cone. Please explain - when did a cylindrical salad become more desirable than a salad shaped salad? Guess what? I don’t relish the mandatory hunt for structural toothpicks required to ensure my mouth not be skewered, prior to taking a tentative bite.

.

Getting warmer, warmer…ok, cold. Cold!

11:45am

So it’s finally warm here in New York City, but not enough to warrant the borderline nudity of my fellow female subway passengers. Dunno about you guys but I actually started dressing down once I move to the city. I’ll never forget the first time that I squeezed in to a teeny tiny ensemble, stepped outside, and hadn’t made it a third of the way down the block before a garbage truck drove up over the sidewalk and nearly crashed into a building so its driver could get a better ogle/holler. So now I tend to cover up a bit more unless I’m doing door to door car service.

Let me take this opportunity to tell everyone that I’m officially over the shorts trend. Sure they look adorable on all of you who tastefully pair them with tights and heels. Sure it’s exciting to mix it up once in awhile. But inevitably, much like the ladies far and wide who embraced the low-rider jeans phenomenon when clearly it was not in their best interest – so too are shorty-shorts a slippery slope. Now, girl – I know you’re hot. I know you sweatin grrrrrl. But how refreshing can it possibly be to have ALL that bare leg sticking to the subway bench?? And honey this isn’t the gym - it’s not like sanitary wipe dispensers are peppered throughout the train to help with sweatiquette. I swear to God, shorts on the wrong gal are a public health risk.

 

All Hail Voice Mail

12:35pm

Claire’s new assistant has been calling an average of 8 times a day. Claire must be on her broom because I can hear (let’s just call her) Newblood fighting back the tears each time. She called to find out what the hell Claire was talking about when she asked for a “no calorie yummy”. She called because Claire told her to have 5 pairs of pants hemmed “the length I like.” I could go on. Most times, there wasn’t a lot I could do but listen sympathetically. Claire’s smart as hell - which means she freshens up the crazy quite frequently to keep us on our toes. But there are a few constants. She likes her snacks, ultra-specific, yet extremely hard to find (quite possibly imaginary). She likes things to look a certain way at all times - a certain way that she will never ever describe. Ahhhh, memories.

At first I was more than willing to help – glad my experience in the trenches could finally benefit somebody. But that feeling quickly went away and was replaced by that used feeling you get when you stay up all night listening to a girl complain about her boyfriend who happens to have a big ole juicy beer gut (think with-child), and who also happens to constantly criticize her body. And then the next day, when you are trying to keep your sleep-deprived head off the keyboard at work – she calls to tell you they just got engaged. Do you know that feeling?

PS: My apologies to everyone that  I haven't been putting in my usual funny links - this new position is kicking my ass! I can barely keep up the blog itself. I'll get back to it soon - I swear!

 

 

Dear Diary – I Am A Big Fat Cliché

4:50pm

Dear Diary – I Am A Big Fat Cliché

Okay, so for the first time ever. I officially have an office crush. Now I know what you're thinking. No. I have not crossed over the line from happy fag hag to unknowing beard candidate. I am not completely clueless – and I certainly know my gays. Believe it or not - there is actually a straight man on my new team! I only met him yesterday because he travels extensively and just returned from India with this amazing collection of jaquard. He is dreamy - as in grown-up-man looks-good-in-a-suit dreamy, as in I couldn't handle him in real life dreamy. I know that sounds weird – it’s just that I have no grown-up man experience. I mean, I can charm the pants off of a drunken musician, but I don’t have the flash cards for someone who can, say, completely understand a 401(k).

 

But what am I even talking about??? My dance card is full, right? I know, I know. But Bloke and I had the gnarliest fight the other night, a fight that I’m afraid was completely my fault. I am so totally freaked out by his super-model tour manager that I can’t relax and trust him like I know I should. It’s a sickness I tell you! Ugh - therapy. Yes. I know. But in the meantime I can enjoy this harmless crushing. It makes the day go by so much faster.

Good Riddance To Old Rubbish

2:45pm

Dingdong the prick is dead! Well, thank you Jesus for small favors because Ali dumped le douche. Took her long enough, huh? Anyway, I guess that the bossy condescending bullshidt wasn't just reserved for moi. Guess gave Ali one too many life-tips cause she finally threw the hammer down. I'm so relieved, as I am in a full-blown neurotic mode with Bloke and desperately need a sidekick for the drinking extravaganza I'm about to embark upon. Sick as it sounds, the only cure for this type of relationship soul sickness is to go out looking unbelievable and let a few emo-clods puff me back up again with their cliché complements and their enabling liquor purchases. Please don’t’ send me angry letters telling me that this sort of crap sets the women’s movement back twenty years. I am all too clear. If anyone has a better idea I’d love to hear it.

*And if your “better idea” is along the lines of: “Girlfriend, you gotta find the love within yourself, girlfriend!” Or any other regurgitated Oprah-ism, I swear to God that I will hunt you down and kill you. For realzies!

Get Outa My Brain Evil Succubus!

11:20am

So here's my post Bloke visit recap. Of course it was awesome to see him. Of course, we did all manner of debaucherous things to one another in a crappy hotel room, upon sheets with the lowest thread count conceivable (I’m pretty sure they were made of burlap). Of course, of course, of course - BUT… there was a little hitch in my giddy-up, truth be told. I was very unhappy to discover that Bloke’s tour manager is drop dead gorgeous. We are talking Jennifer Connelly, but wearing a Misfits T-shirt, and a pair of those Ann Demuelemeester boots that everybody below 14th St. owns. I wish I could tell you that I handled it with grace and dignity. Mmmmm – I’ll give it a sorta. Though I didn't actually say anything incriminating, her beauty was so shocking that I was struck speechless the moment I saw her, and I’m sure my expression spoke volumes. I could actually feel the blood draining from my face and my mouth go dry. Now, I think I'm a pretty smart girl… fairly levelheaded. I mean I’m not tragically insecure or anything. So why am I obsessing about her to this degree? Seriously, for the entire flight home, and ever since she's all I can think about. She definitely cast a perfectly proportioned (so tall!) shadow over the weekend.

 

Packing Psychosis

8:01pm

I haven't been in my new position long enough to take a single day off, which is why all of my upcoming Bloke visits must be quick Friday-to-Sunday in-and-outs. That adds up to two nights, one full day and some change. And I know this. So how I ended up with a 300 pound bag of luggage is as much a mystery to me as anyone. I’ve been staring at it for an hour, and I don’t not see a single item I can do without. Please don’t ask me to explain how eight pairs of shoes are absolutely essential (don’t even ask me about boots). Nor can I explain why I’m bringing two or three bizarro pieces I’ve never managed to wear in my regular life. But I know that if I were to decide to edit ruthlessly and leave something behind, I guaranty that something would be on my mind for the entire trip. Listen, I know myself - I am hip to the inner workings of my crazy brain. “Damn it!” I’d think as I enjoyed a lazy breakfast in bed with Bloke. “This would have been the perfect time to wear those snakeskin jodhpurs.” Ugh. I’ll never get out the door with this behemoth!

The Office

8:45am

Have I told you about my new office? Well first things first -- I have one. I am no longer the gatekeeper lording over the moat between the world at large and Claire's office. Yes indeedy. I now have the power to close (slam, even!) a door other than the bathroom. This is not to say that I don’t have to share it with a coworker – oh, but of course I do, as I remain but a miserable peon. The good news is that my office partner (her name is Kathy) travels 70% of the month, so I haven't even met her yet. I'm crossing my fingers that she is not the token maniac that Kelly scared me about. I’ll admit that I have already played detective a tiny bit. Is that bad? Anyway, there were a few things that could be interpreted as possible red flags. But then again, my standards are a muy ridiculouso, don't you think? You be the judge.

1. The Paris Hilton book (Confessions of an Heiress). Without having met Kathy I can’t be sure that her ownership of this wretched book is the result of anything other than a straightforward purchase. Crossing my fingers that it’s a joke gift or statement of irony.
2. The boyfriend in the majority of photos on her bulletin board appears to be a total choad. Horrifying signs include gel abuse, extreme Diesel jeans, and a sweeeeeet necklace collection (shudder).

Gimmie A Ticket For An Aeroplane

10:45am

Bloke and I have decided that since his tourapalooza shows no sign of stopping, I’m going to start flying out to meet him on the road a few weekends a month. He just sublet his pad and can now afford to spring for my airfare. I’m so psyched, and am already planning outfits down to the skivs. I mean who wouldn’t enjoy a stint as long distance mistress? God knows I came to serve. Woohoo!

Yes, yes. I know all about the realities of tour. I realize that what really awaits me is just a bunch of stinky boys who rarely look up from the video game they’ve been paying for the past 16 hours in the crusty tour bus lounge that’s always filled with that special rock-fart-weed smell (which takes weeks to wash out of my hair), empty Red Bull cans, and a thick layer of cheeto dust. But whatever. Do not kill my buzz y’all! I’m sure there will be small breaks where we can crash in shitty motels (God knows I love me a sleazy motor lodge) and attack each other. I miss him like the dickens. There, I said it. Are you happy?

Our Hallmark Moment At Last!

3:15pm

Can’t believe it. Claire just took me out to lunch! I guess it was her formal “You’re moving up in the world, therefore I will treat you like a human/colleague for about an hour,” ritual. I must admit it was very, very awesome. She said I’d done a great job and that she respected my level of dedication. She said she knew I was going to be very successful within the company or wherever my career may take me. Trust me, it sounded way less canned in person. I was mildly uncomfortable (sincerity makes me squirmy) but to my surprise I had to fight to keep from welling up. When her spiel was finito, we relaxed and enjoyed our very expensive salads (hello, The Four Seasons - maybe you’ve heard of it?) and ventured into small talk land. The highpoint was when I asked how Jasper was doing and she (without thinking) rolled her eyes dramatically, though she quickly followed up with the official party line, “She’s great! This is such an exciting time in her life.”

Exciting? Yeah, I guess that’s accurate. I did see a few more pics of her in In Touch (or was it Star?) recently where she was cavorting in a bikini with a certain offspring of a certain geriatric star known for recycling his blonde wife for a younger(yet strangely identical) model every 5 years. They both looked like the worst Orange County Mcmansion trash that ever washed up bloated and stinking on a Malibu beach. How did all these smart, successful, (I’m not endorsing the word but) classy women spawn such rotten, spoiled demon teens?

Can You Creatively Pick Up My Dry Cleaning? Mmmmmmm. Thanks So Much!

6:45pm

Well so far, I’ve met with five girls vying for the Claire assistant job. It’s hard to shake out a distinguishing feature from the bunch. All seem smart, educated, and in complete denial about the opportunities that this position will offer. If I had a dollar for every time one of them said she was a “creative person” looking for a “creative job,” I’d have enough to get a weekly Pedi at Rescue. I desperately want to tell them each that the most creative thing they’ll be doing for the next year is finding new, inventive ways to talk themselves into getting out of bed each morning. Bur really - what would be the use? It’s unavoidable - jobs like this are the gatekeepers of the corporate world. Gotta do the time baby girls, ‘aint no way round.

Besides, the candidates came through HR and probably had the life sucked out of them in the process. It will take months on the job for a real personality to begin leaking out the cracks. But just as I was thinking I may have to do a straight up eeny-meeny-miny-moe, something happened. As one interviewee was heading toward the elevators to leave, Naomi blazed by in the other direction (in full Naomi splendor). The girl (let’s just call her Alice), thinking she was alone in the hallway, did a cartoony double take - and as her head turned to follow Naomi’s retreating lycra-draped badonkadonk, her face lit up with hysterical glee. But as her eyes continued to travel down the hall they met my own. Her face lost a bit of color when she saw me, realizing I’d caught her in an unguarded moment. We held each other’s gaze for a second, and despite my best attempt at a poker face I’m sure my eyes betrayed my true feelings (um… try complete understanding). She (in what I chose to interpret as sign of maturity) quickly bowed out of our little staring contest, and disappeared into the elevator banks.

Yessiree. I do believe we’ve got a contender.

 

 

The Many, Mini Tours Of Bloke.

9:28am

Record companies 'aint what they used to be. Not that I actually know what I'm talking about. I mean, everything I’ve learned about the decadent Zeppelin-rock years I learned by watching VHI just like everyone else. I've certainly never been shagged on a private jet by a guy wearing fringe for example. Though, truth be told, such is the stuff of my fantasies (minus the fringe of course). 

But a least I DO remember a time when the label bastards bothered to tell a dude in advance if he was going to be on the road for a nice long stretch. Sure, this sort of detail may not matter to junkie, couch-surf bands (whose drummer always gets arrested in Cleveland for Fed Exing himself a couple grams of tar, bringing the tour to an end in less than week anyway). But a guy with his shit together kinda needs to know these things in order to make the appropriate arrangements. Maybe he owns a friggin plant that needs watering (ever think of that, you evil execs?). Maybe he wants to sublet his apartment temporarily since he won't need it. Or maybe wants to TELL HIS FUCKING GIRLFRIEND IN ADVANCE! Instead, Bloke’s record company sent him out on a four night gig which never really ended. They continue to nickel and dime him with three more dates here, four more dates there, and a quick pop over to Asia dotcha know. And before he/we knew it, a month had trickled by and Bloke had only slept at home twice.

I hate to say it but I’m gonna have to learn to stop laughing like a 13 year old every time he attempts to initiate phone sex. Otherwise we’ll never make it through this.

 

Let’s Go Team!

2:45pm

I briefly met the members of my new team this week. First impression: It seems like there aren't any Naomi-type wackadoos in the bunch. In fact, they all appear to be impeccably put together and boringly-snoringly sane.  When I reported this to Kelly, he laughed knowingly (for a waaaaay too long), then maddeningly declined to explain himself. Saying only, "trust me, there's always a freak in the bunch."

WTF? I’m gonna kill him! Now I’m so curious it’s making it impossible to get any work done.

Ali’s A**hole

1:15pm

Well Ali is still seeing (lets just call him) Biff. She says it’s just good fun, nothing serious. But I seriously want to push him in front of a train. Not that I’ll ever have the chance, because Biff would never be caught dead riding mass trans. Anyway, I went out with them again the other night and can honestly tell you that it will never, ever, ever happen again. He is intolerably condescending to the tenth power. He did everything short of ordering me a Shirley Temple, swear to God. I mentioned that he’s only a few years older than me right? But seriously, he talks to me like I’m a 16 year old tourist from Alabama who just stepped off the Statue Of Liberty ferry. 

He talked me through the wine ordering process (you’re kidding, you smell the cork? I thought you were supposed to chew it up, swirl it around in your mouth and spit it at the waiter!), He corrected my Italian pronunciation when I ordered (who gives a fuck?! It wasn’t exactly dinner at the Whitehouse. I mean it was a yummy restaurant but there were tranny hookers right outside the friggin window), and he actually said, “you’ll understand when you get older,” when I told him his favorite presidential candidate was a douchebag. Yes, I realize that I was baiting him with my juvenile usage of the word douchebag, but for christsake let me live a little!

 I hate him. The end.