Thursday, February 28, 2008
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
The entire office had a delicioso Mexican meal at a popular New York City restaurant. A pomegranate margarita was put into my hands as I walked into our private room and as quickly as I finished it, a fresh glass was given to me. Before I could dig into the tortilla chips and guacamole at my table, we did a round of tequila shots (and I love good tequila). Several margarita's later, I was d-r-u-n-k, drunk! No big deal though, our ad director (who happened to attend the same college as WG2 and I, which means she can drink) was getting sloppy.
Lunch cleared, co-workers with family and trains to catch headed home. I, along with a few other assistants, the ad director and associate publisher, headed to the bar. Two Corona's later, I told the associate publisher that he owed me $200. Yes, I was that drunk.
Why did I think that he owed me $200, you ask? Well, let me tell you...
I've mentioned before that I interned for a summer at my current workplace. That summer, as an incentive for the team to work hard, said associate publisher told everyone that if they sold a certain amount of advertising pages, the entire team would receive a $200 gift card to any advertiser in the magazine. I believe his exact words were "everyone! salespeople, interns, marketing, everyone!" As an intern, who wasn't getting paid, I was pretty excited to receive a gift card to pretty much any place I wanted.
A few weeks later, the art intern and I were asked to put together plagues that were made for everyone's desk that said their name and the advertiser they chose for their gift card. I can't wait to put mine on my desk, I thought. Then, it dawned on me, no one ever asked me what advertiser I wanted a gift card from. We put together all the plaques and placed them on everyone's desk. I didn't get one and I was bummed. I thought I got over it. But apparently, I was holding a bit of a grudge.
"Associate Publisher," I said. "You know that you owe me $200, right"
"Uh, no." He was definitely not as drunk as me. I filled him in and he joked, "Oh, OK, I'll work on that."
I still have my job, so it seems that I wasn't completely out of line, but now I know better than to drink and tell important people they owe me money.
Oh, and you're probably wondering...I didn't get the $200.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Let me start this post by first stating that I am the unfortunate lover of horrific chick lit - really anything that has a pink cover and a title that gives an air that the main character might be a single Working Girl in a big city and I'm sold. Every once in a while, however, I settle into a memoir about a real, live Working Girl - someone who has been there there, done that, walked a mile in the real deal four-inch heels and lived to tell the tale.
Friday, February 22, 2008
The letters NSFW are sprinkled all over my favorite celebrity gossip blogs, but it wasn't until yesterday that I found out what these letters stand for. I googled NSFW to find out the meaning. "Obvi," I thought when I read the hits on google. I gchatted Working Girl Two to see if she knew the meaning since I felt pretty stupid not knowing it myself. She didn't know it so I felt better. With great pride of my new knowledge, I explained to WG2 that NSFW stood for 'Not Safe For Work'. But you probably already knew that.
While Pink is the New Blog and Dlisted censor Britney's Britney and all other nakedness that our favorite celebrities provide us with, I strongly believe that NSFW, now that I know what it means, should be used much more often. I'll share two experiences with you that could have been prevented in which nakedness covered my work computer if someone had just quickly typed in NSFW so I knew not to click while at work.
A friend from college sent me and a few other friends a link to some pictures he wanted us to check out. Now, this friend is an avid photographer, so no red flag waved as I clicked the link I didn't recognize as I was eager to view his photos. While the page loaded, I turned around to grab a file from the cabinet behind my desk. I turned back. Omigod! And there she was, High School Musical's Vanessa Hudgens in all her not-so-Disney glory. My cheeks turned red as I turned around to see if anyone noticed Vanessa's ta-tas sprawled across my computer. No one did. Thank God. I could have avoided this almost embarrassing experience (not to mention potential moment to get fired) if my friend had typed NSFW. Although, at the time, I had no clue what it meant so typing the acronym out probably would have been more effective.
My second Not Safe For Work experience is thanks to a man named Bret and a woman named Heather. They were meant to be, but didn't realize it and that is why Rock of Love failed and Rock of Love 2 is now airing on VH1. And why, after watching the first episode of Rock of Love 2, I was on a mission to find out if one of the girls fighting for Bret's love was a former contestant on Beauty and the Geek (I know, I watch way too much TV). IMDB was no help; I had to figure out this contestant's last name on my own. After searching and searching, I found it. I googled her name, clicked a few links, nothing. Clicked some more, nada. Changed the spelling of her name, clicked another click. And I got something, but not what was I was looking for. I got boobs, huge uncensored boobs. Awesome. I turned around, is this really happening again, to see if anyone noticed. I was safe. Again, thank God!
So, Working Girls, here’s a new tool to help you avoid getting fired. That, and don’t make out with a co-worker in the supply closet (you never know when someone is going to need staples).
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
While I wish I could say I have lost more weight, I have only lost 6 pounds after four weeks, which is just two pounds shy of my goal weight at the month mark. I have been trying to lose at least two pounds per week, but unfortunately long weekends, hung over food, and maybe one too many glasses of wine (hey, it was V-Day after all!) have prevented me from reaching negative eight pounds.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
On workdays, my body begins to crave the sweet, syrupy cola from the fountain machine in the cafeteria or carbonated and cold in the form of its signature can right as the clock reads 12:00 pm.
It's about that same time that the caffeine from my morning coffee wears off and I realize my to-do list is nearly two pages long. I don't think I'll get through the rest of the day. I think about lunch, how nice it will be to have an hour-long break, which helps but only a little. Then, I think about my Diet Coke and all its deliciousness. With each sip I take at lunch my head starts to clear and my eyes awaken and I know I'll make it through the long working afternoon.
Go on, grab a DC. You know you want to.
Monday, February 18, 2008
Thursday, February 14, 2008
This morning, I began to miss the good old days – where Valentine’s day meant sugar and valentines from every single one of your classmates (it was mandated in our school so that people like Needy Nelly and Stinky Stanley didn’t get snubbed). I miss grade school because the same formula always resulted in a pink and red, candy-hazed day that left me floating on air. The day before the big “V”, your whole class would go to town on an old cardboard box (preferably a Doc Marten box to look cool) and make a mailbox full of hearts, which would the next day be filled the brim with Barbies, Disney characters, and Power Rangers wishing you a “Happy Valentine’s Day!”. After receiving all your valentines, you’d huddle together with your girlfriends, trying to figure out if that squiggle next to latest crush Brian F.’s name meant that he had a crush on you or if the kid who smelled like fish thought were “the one” because he sent you a Mickey Mouse valentine instead of a Goofy one. Then, you’d consume lots and lots and lots of sugar in the form of “room mom” homemade cupcakes, lollipops shaped like hearts and Hershey kisses.
After witnessing my first ever workplace Valentine’s Day, I’ve decided that grade school V Day’s are a lot like work. Because like grade school, the workplace is awkward and there are boundaries to which you can express your love (or you’ll be slapped with a lawsuit). For example, I have received from my co-workers the following items: a hand-me-down jewelry box, a tube of Dermalogica Treatment Foundation, a piece of chocolate, two candy hearts asking me to marry them, and a card with a dog on the front. Like grade school, I analyzed over the “Marry Me?” hearts. Does he want to marry me? Or is he kidding? I mean, I’m pretty sure he’s already married. Remind me to ask around the office.
And just like grade school some of my presents were odd like the hand-me-down jewelry box and the foundation, but I chalk that up to me pressuring my best office friend (who I must add is pushing fifty and gay) to get me flowers and this is what he stole from his roommate before he got to work. Thanks, really means a lot (said with dripping sarcasm).
But next year, could someone please send me something? I’ll even take a fruit basket. I’ll admit, the competitiveness has turned me into a desperate school girl at a seventh grade dance (material stolen from Dane Cook since I am brain dead from all my back-to-back meetings).
My boss turned around and said the phrase I hate the most yet hear her voice utter to me several times a day, "Working Girl One, can you do me a faaavuh?"
"Yes, Boss," I replied with a smile but not without a quick roll of the eyes before swiveling around on my chair to face her. I never ask what the favor is because I have no choice and because she's never really asking me for a favor - this is just her way of telling me what she needs me to do.
She handed me a piece of paper with what could only be described as chicken scratch scribbled upon it. On it was a client's name and the address of a kosher deli on the Upper East Side. My boss asked me to have two quarts of chicken soup delivered to her client's home because she was home sick and missing a meeting. Of course, I have all the time in the world to do this. It's not like I have to mail out 50 plus copies of our March issue with personalized letters, prepare for one of my new bosses to start tomorrow, and check Pink is the New Blog or anything.
I also had to track down the client's home address in order to accomplish this task because while my boss claims to be good friends with this lady, she doesn't have any of her information. Of course not, that would be too easy. The client is a well-known senior vice president at a well-known media agency in Manhattan, so finding her address wasn't going to be as simple as looking on whitepages.com. I e-mailed the administrative assistant at the client's office. She ignored my e-mail (beotch). I asked my boss if she was positive that she didn't have her client's home address. She confirmed that she did not.
Finally, I went to whitepages.com. But, I was convinced she wouldn't be listed.
False. She was, indeed, listed.
When I called the deli they most likely thought I was a creepy girlfriend sending my sick boyfriend chicken soup. Not only was I ordering chicken soup as a "gift" for someone, I also wanted a note sent with it - of the "hope you feel better!" variety. I completed the favor, all while rolling my eyes, thinking about how much of a suck-up my boss was being to this client and how ridiculous it is that she continually asks me to do these tasks.
Sure enough, a half hour later when the chicken soup was delivered, my boss received an e-mail from her client graciously thanking and applauding my boss for knowing exactly what she needed to get better. Upon hearing this, I turned away from my boss and rolled my eyes. However not before replying in my most cheery worker bee voice, "Oh good! That was such a great idea!"
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Monday, February 11, 2008
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
During commuting hours, Working Girls are in a rush, a rush to get to the jobs they love or the jobs they hate. Most of these Working Girls know the social norms of commuting. However, there are a few that need a lesson in commuting etiquette; this post is for them.
Please Hold – It is one thing to whip out your cell phone to call your boss to tell her you'll be late as you ride the bus to work, it's a completely different thing to chat with your girlfriend about the fight you had with your boyfriend or how "Sally and John totally made out at the bar on Saturday." I know, Sally and John, I can't believe it either.
When One Door Closes – It's not that hard to hold a door, unless you're in Port Authority which happens to have doors as heavy as an anchor for the Titanic. There is nothing worse than one of those "door holder avoiders," who speed up to avoid holding the door. Hold the door; it’s the nice thing to do.
Walk This Way – Walking on the street or in a subway station is like driving on a three-lane highway: slow moving people should stay to the right; faster walkers should keep to the left.
Movin’ On Up – For some time, I didn’t see the point in walking up or down an escalator, the point of an escalator is to not walk, it’s to have a break from walking or to avoid stairs. During commuting hours, this is a different story. Escalators are the way to go and some of us like to walk up or down them. When riding an escalator, if you choose not to walk, stay to the right and stand. Do not stand on the left, block fellow commuters and then get mad when someone tries to push past you.
Give it Up – Most subways, trains, & buses have signs asking commuters to give up their seat for the elderly or the disabled. Give up your seat for these people and watch out for those people that get surly when you stand up and invade some of their space (Working Girl Two ran into one of those this morning).
Boys Will Be Boys – Working Boys can be ferocious in their attempts to get a seat, cut you in line, or getting on the subway. When a Working Boy is mean to you, it’s best not to give him a bitchy “uh, ex-cuse me!?” Kill him with kindness if you get the chance a polite “thank you” or “excuse me” as you walk past him will make him feel bad.
Me So Pretty – You not so pretty when you do your make-up on your commute. I see you when you get on the bus (sans make-up) and when you off the bus (avec make-up). You looked better before. A make-up routine can take as little as five minutes, take the time and do it at home.
Charge It – Many New York City Taxi’s are equipped with credit card machines, but be advised taxi drivers tend to give passengers a hard time and refuse to allow passengers to use a credit or debit card. To avoid a fight with a driver on your way to work on a day you’re running late or on your way home after a hard days work, let him know you plan on using a credit card when you get into the cab. If the driver claims the machine is broken, call 311 and give the medallion number. For more information, click here.
Bag Lady – Carrying your purse and additional bags can be a pain. But those bags can also keep the creeper standing next to you on the subway from invading your personal space and getting his hands a little too close to your Hanky Pankies.
Stand Clear of the Opening Doors Please – You can’t get on the subway train until I get off, please stand clear or I’ll whip you with my bag. Thank you.
Stand Clear of the Closing Doors Please – This should go without saying, but people still do it. Are you really willing to sacrifice your life to get onto the train?
Keep It Down – Maybe I just keep the volume on my iPod down because I don’t want my fellow commuters to know I’m listening to Hannah Montana but it’s a good idea to listen to your music at a reasonable volume. Not only will this keep those around you happy, but it’ll be nice on the ears.
Now that I have imparted my words of commuting wisdom on you, you are ready to hit the streets. And please, share your commuting tips and tricks with me and the other Working Girls reading by leaving a comment.
Monday, February 4, 2008
This is because I am probably the worst person to deal with when hung over. I won’t go into extreme detail, but let’s just say I don’t look pretty, I probably don’t smell pretty and I could definitely have a prettier demeanor after a night of binge drinking. Since leaving college, a night of binge drinking for me now consists of three glasses of wine. I have been cursed with a post-graduate’s inability to drink large amounts of alcohol. But that topic is for another post altogether.
Today is Monday, February 4th. Other than it being the fateful date of Rosa Parks and Dan Quayle’s birthdays and the day Hitler took command of the German army, it is also serves a more important time in history - the day after the 42nd Annual Super Bowl. Which means, I am hung over. I woke up this morning with a dry mouth, headache, and a really unfortunate stomachache from all the nachos and hot wings I consumed last night. I didn’t understand why I felt like I had been run over by a truck until I remembered how my friends and I had made the Super Bowl into our own personal drinking game. Looking back probably not the wisest decision.
My hands even feel heavy and it has taken me over two hours to write this post. We all know that the only way to truly prevent the hangover that you feel like might result in your untimely death is abstinence. However, I think we all know that you’re not going to be thinking, “Wow, I should really listen to WG2 and put this shot of tequila down!” when you’re hanging out with that hottie five cubicles down at the bar after work. So from me to you, here are some tips on how to suffer through the workday with the aftermath of a true bender.
Fight drinking with more drinking.
And I don’t mean chug a cold one before getting on the subway. For me, the best way to prevent a hangover is drink at least three glasses of water before going to bed. Or stock up on drinks with electrolytes in them – Gatorade, Powerade, Accelerade – and try to drink them before bed as well as in the morning.
Kill the pain.
I’m a big believer in a little remedy I call a bottle of Excedrin. Two before bed, two in the morning.
Eat, eat, and eat some more.
This might just be me, but after a day of hard drinking I am so hungry I think I could eat a whole cow if asked. To appease my talking tummy, I usually head on over to McDonald’s – a #3 always does the trick for me. But you can pick your own poison – Chinese food, a meatball parm, a bagel loaded with cream cheese. I’m literally salivating on my keyboard.
Drown your sorrows…in the shower.
A scalding hot shower in the morning wakes you up and makes you feel less grimy. This solution is perfect for a work week hangover. You will smell less and look cleaner thereby being presentable for your colleagues.
The random remedies.
Over the years, I have been given some very odd cures of how to suppress the looming hangover. One roommate once told me a vanilla milkshake does the trick, I’ve been told apples are a quick way to feel better, or eating peanut butter before going out on the town. Vitamin C tablets, carbonated beverages, a large glass of cold chocolate milk. The list goes on and on.
And with that, I’m going to crawl under my desk and try to sneak a mini-nap.
Friday, February 1, 2008
Then, I went in to his office. My face was flushed but cheeks were bright red and I was sweating. I looked pretty attractive. My voice was shaky as I told him how flattered I was to be given this responsibility, told him my concerns about assisting three people, and quickly mentioned that I wanted to be compensated accordingly. I didn't exactly ask for a raise. Instead I said, "I want to be sure I'm compensated accordingly, whether it's a raise we discuss now or in the future, or ensuring that I am not given a hard time when filing for overtime."