So the official corporate Internet policy kind of prohibits blogging/message boards. Since I'm still pretty new I will probably adhere to this policy, at least until I start selling like gang busters. Therefore I leave you with this:
I drink coffee, though to be more descriptive it's fair to say that I drink a lot of coffee. I generally make it at home though this is unfortunately not always possible, in which case I am forced to outsource my caffeine addiction. Starbucks is my favorite chain, though I tend to favor the coffee at convenience stores (the Store 24 near the Aquarium T will always have a special place in my heart) since it's surprisingly wicked good.
Here's the thing tho - I drink it black and it irks me that I don't get financially rewarded for this decision. Aside from being idiot proof to prepare (though Dunkies has repeatedly managed to fuck up "medium black"), it obviously costs a lot less to prepare a coffee sans the sugar and cream. I don't believe in these superfluous coffee additions (albeit flavored coffee, Splenda, or the like), yet I am forced to pick up the tab for another person's preference. It's the kind of coffee socialism that only a Democrat could appreciate.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Teaching An Old Dog New Tricks
I turned the big 2-nine on Saturday, and after partying my yellow dress ass off I entered the ranks of the middle aged by pouring coffee into a travel mug and starting my new corporate job yesterday. I am extremely lucky to have found a fantastic position! at a great company!, with wonderful benefits! and room to develop professionally! However, in spite of this tremendous opportunity, I hasn't stopped me from feeling like Ray Liotta at the end of Goodfellas - at least not completely. After spending three years as a vital part of a small business operation I developed an insanely large ego, all of which was snatched out of me as I sat in traffic on Route 128 yesterday morning -sigh - just like everybody else.
(Of course everybody else generally gets paid what they're owed on time, so if this is the case with my new job (which I strongly suspect it is), then I'm a-ok with marching rank and file with the rest of the working masses.)
Think the North Koreans have it bad with non-stop propaganda piped into their homes 24-7? Try listening to 60 hours a week of adult contemporary pop over the office Musak system. I've read up on the ethics code, dress code, harassment (or rather anti-harassment) code, and fire code. Unlike my last job, it turns out that I'm expected to wear shoes, keep my mouth shut, and listen to an endless loop of the Meet The Beatles album from the safety and comfort of my cubicle. As long as the coffee from the travel mug doesn't run out before 8am, I should be good to go.
This week promises to be filled with orientations, parking permits, ID badges, and cubicle tours. I'll managed to squeeze in training seminars, team bonding, trips to the cafeteria salad bar, and lots and lots of traffic. It's a schedule I knew and loved for a long time before my previous job though juggling it all isn't as hard as I remember. Each morning from tomorrow until eternity I'll polish my heels, iron my suit, and stuff myself into pantyhose because despite all the traffic and office politicking, this Office Space life is likely one I was born to lead.
(Of course everybody else generally gets paid what they're owed on time, so if this is the case with my new job (which I strongly suspect it is), then I'm a-ok with marching rank and file with the rest of the working masses.)
Think the North Koreans have it bad with non-stop propaganda piped into their homes 24-7? Try listening to 60 hours a week of adult contemporary pop over the office Musak system. I've read up on the ethics code, dress code, harassment (or rather anti-harassment) code, and fire code. Unlike my last job, it turns out that I'm expected to wear shoes, keep my mouth shut, and listen to an endless loop of the Meet The Beatles album from the safety and comfort of my cubicle. As long as the coffee from the travel mug doesn't run out before 8am, I should be good to go.
This week promises to be filled with orientations, parking permits, ID badges, and cubicle tours. I'll managed to squeeze in training seminars, team bonding, trips to the cafeteria salad bar, and lots and lots of traffic. It's a schedule I knew and loved for a long time before my previous job though juggling it all isn't as hard as I remember. Each morning from tomorrow until eternity I'll polish my heels, iron my suit, and stuff myself into pantyhose because despite all the traffic and office politicking, this Office Space life is likely one I was born to lead.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Pahkcah02 on Panera
I spent today, one of my last days of freedom, by multi-tasking 3 loads of laundry with various Stoughton-area errands. After running to the mechanic, BJ's, Home Depot, Roche Bros, the tailor, bank, and dry cleaner, I figured I would treat mom and Pee Wee to lunch. We were originally going to mosey over to our Stoughton standby, Cheng Du, except storms were rolling in which wigged out Minnie big time. Since Minnie has of late been demonstrating her anxiety by shitting on the carpet (the dog needs Xanax, big time), Pee Wee and mom decided that the only take-out joint worthy of my lunch money is the local Panera Bread.
I begged (pleaded, really) to go anywhere, anywhere, except Panera - I was promptly overruled. I don't really mind the fact that Panera hides their horrific nutrition stats by masquerading as a healthy alternative to Wendy's. I also personally don't care if their turkey sandwich is more heart-clogging than a Big Mac, so long as it tastes good. The problem is that the food doesn't taste good. In fact, it's absolutely horrifying how disgusting and generic every single thing on the menu tastes and yet, for some specific reason that is completely unbeknownst to me, I am under the impression that I'm the only person who feels this way.
As a compromise, I insisted that I call in the order beforehand, lest I be subjected to the free Wi-Fi world of Panera for a minute longer than necessary. Pee Wee and mom both eagerly demanded I order them a deuce of Asian Chicken Salad. For a fleeting moment I debated whether or not to get a chicken salad sandwich until I remembered that ordering two identical items in addition to one completely different item would result in a Fuck up Factor of 7*. I reluctantly joined the Asian chicken salad bandwagon.
When I got the zoo that is Panera at the unconventional suburban lunch hour of 13:00, I was greeted by a line out the door of die-hard soup, salad, and sandwich groupies. I fought my way Stoughton-style to the front of the phone in register, paid about $600 for 3 salads, and sped back to the pahkcah02 compound at a 40mph clip. I was practically mauled by a grateful Panera-loving sibling as she scarfed down her lettuce laden salad in record time (really? Do Asian people get pissed that restaurants coin mediocre/horrible food as "Asian style"? Cos if some restaurant served a "Jewish style" plate of garbage, I'd be pretty bullshit). Meanwhile, Minnie was so wrapped up in snatching pieces of oily French baguette that she almost forgot that the world was ending via fog and patchy skies.
Ah, the crap that I do for my family. After sucking it up and taking one for the team, I feel that I definitely deserve a kidney or platelet match from these people. I may even settle for an extra birthday drink at dinner tomorrow, so long as Panera is not on the menu.
* Fuck Up Factor: 1 = perfect order; 10 = How can you complain that they fucked up? You knew that was going to happen!
I begged (pleaded, really) to go anywhere, anywhere, except Panera - I was promptly overruled. I don't really mind the fact that Panera hides their horrific nutrition stats by masquerading as a healthy alternative to Wendy's. I also personally don't care if their turkey sandwich is more heart-clogging than a Big Mac, so long as it tastes good. The problem is that the food doesn't taste good. In fact, it's absolutely horrifying how disgusting and generic every single thing on the menu tastes and yet, for some specific reason that is completely unbeknownst to me, I am under the impression that I'm the only person who feels this way.
As a compromise, I insisted that I call in the order beforehand, lest I be subjected to the free Wi-Fi world of Panera for a minute longer than necessary. Pee Wee and mom both eagerly demanded I order them a deuce of Asian Chicken Salad. For a fleeting moment I debated whether or not to get a chicken salad sandwich until I remembered that ordering two identical items in addition to one completely different item would result in a Fuck up Factor of 7*. I reluctantly joined the Asian chicken salad bandwagon.
When I got the zoo that is Panera at the unconventional suburban lunch hour of 13:00, I was greeted by a line out the door of die-hard soup, salad, and sandwich groupies. I fought my way Stoughton-style to the front of the phone in register, paid about $600 for 3 salads, and sped back to the pahkcah02 compound at a 40mph clip. I was practically mauled by a grateful Panera-loving sibling as she scarfed down her lettuce laden salad in record time (really? Do Asian people get pissed that restaurants coin mediocre/horrible food as "Asian style"? Cos if some restaurant served a "Jewish style" plate of garbage, I'd be pretty bullshit). Meanwhile, Minnie was so wrapped up in snatching pieces of oily French baguette that she almost forgot that the world was ending via fog and patchy skies.
Ah, the crap that I do for my family. After sucking it up and taking one for the team, I feel that I definitely deserve a kidney or platelet match from these people. I may even settle for an extra birthday drink at dinner tomorrow, so long as Panera is not on the menu.
* Fuck Up Factor: 1 = perfect order; 10 = How can you complain that they fucked up? You knew that was going to happen!
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Girls With Big Feet
Another cute shoe idea gone wrong occured last night at the Chestnut Hill Mall. A few weeks ago I bought an adorable pair of Nine West sandals at the Wrentham Outlets and, being the genius that I am!, decided that last night's shopping excursion was the perfect time to break them in. Five blisters the size of Rhode Island later, I hobbled to the Bloomingdale's shoe department to buy a pair of more sensible soles.
Tragic error number two came about when I suddenly realized that the Bloomingdale's shoe department isn't exactly DSW. I immediately booked it to the clearance rack where the average shoe hovers just under $100 (marked down from $200, of course). Unlike my shop-a-holic boyfriend, I know absolutely nothing about shoes, shoe designers, or the like. After rummaging through the racks for about 20 minutes my blisters were starting to take over my feet in the manner of little blister colonies and I figured it was no time to bargain shop. I found a pair of Cole Haan's for $90 (!) that looked comfortable and wore them out of the store.
It turns out that the Cole Haan shoes I bought have Nike Air soles, which means I can wear them to the club, beach, or basketball court. After my shopping excursion Wellesley and I had a double date with his friend E and her boyfriend. E's shopping habits make Wellesley's attemps look like amateur hour, therefore she is my shopping sage. As I told the story of tragic shoe drama E blurted out that Cole Haan's are the best shoe ever and that paying $90 is a steal. I guess E's statement was the seal of approval I needed to get over my buyers remorse.
I learned three important lessons: 1. Buying a pair of comfortable $90 sandals is a worthwhile investment, but only if given the green light by E; 2. I am dangerous in the Chestnut Hill Mall; 3. Next time I insist on wearing bad shoes, I had better be out with Girls With Big Feet Crew (Fearless, Queen Dee, the Republican, etc)
Tragic error number two came about when I suddenly realized that the Bloomingdale's shoe department isn't exactly DSW. I immediately booked it to the clearance rack where the average shoe hovers just under $100 (marked down from $200, of course). Unlike my shop-a-holic boyfriend, I know absolutely nothing about shoes, shoe designers, or the like. After rummaging through the racks for about 20 minutes my blisters were starting to take over my feet in the manner of little blister colonies and I figured it was no time to bargain shop. I found a pair of Cole Haan's for $90 (!) that looked comfortable and wore them out of the store.
It turns out that the Cole Haan shoes I bought have Nike Air soles, which means I can wear them to the club, beach, or basketball court. After my shopping excursion Wellesley and I had a double date with his friend E and her boyfriend. E's shopping habits make Wellesley's attemps look like amateur hour, therefore she is my shopping sage. As I told the story of tragic shoe drama E blurted out that Cole Haan's are the best shoe ever and that paying $90 is a steal. I guess E's statement was the seal of approval I needed to get over my buyers remorse.
I learned three important lessons: 1. Buying a pair of comfortable $90 sandals is a worthwhile investment, but only if given the green light by E; 2. I am dangerous in the Chestnut Hill Mall; 3. Next time I insist on wearing bad shoes, I had better be out with Girls With Big Feet Crew (Fearless, Queen Dee, the Republican, etc)
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Officially On Short Timers
Back in '06 I left a relatively cushy job in corporate America to take a chance on a start-up with a unique business model. As a 26 year old, I was expected to act like someone twice my age with the experience, maturity, and self-discipline required to make it in the start-up world. I'd work out of my house 60+ hours a week, travel across the country, and crawl way out of my comfort zone almost every second of every day in order to be successful. It worked, and for a while I was absolutely unstoppable. Then the economy collapsed, budgets seized, and the walls around me started to slowly cave in. Faced with a pay cut, a pile of IOU's, and a mortgage that I had to pay regardless, I did what anyone in my position would be expected to do: I threw my resume into a pile with the millions of others currently looking for work.
After searching for about three weeks, I was given a job offer at a Fortune 1000 company. At first I felt bad about receiving such a kick-ass job offer so quickly. After all, I have a lot of friends who have been out of work for months and here I am, casually looking for a job when opportunity literally knocked on my door. As a hard-core worrywart, I was really torn as to what I should pursue. Take money off the table, and working in sweats while your boss sits in an office two states away beats waking up at 5:30am, wearing pantyhose, and sitting in traffic any day. However, after reading over the benefits package (health insurance! vision plan! 401(k)! oh my!) I reminded myself not to be a fucking idiot and take the money and run. Such is the life of a professional sales rep.
Since my new employer insists on calling my current employer before I can start, I really had no choice but to give my two weeks notice about one week earlier than I had planned. After some deliberation and in the nicest way possible, I was told to finish out the week and then take a hike. Despite the constant stress and uncertainty, my current boss is the best sales person I've ever known and just a fantastic person in general. Unfortunately the situation just didn't work out and it was better to weigh my options while I still had options available. As the Yiddish proverb states, when God closes one door, He opens another. I honestly wouldn't be surprised if I'm working with him again at some point.
I start my new job at the end of this month and I'm really looking forward to it. After being so isolated for the past three years it will be nice to encounter other living, breathing human beings (aside from Manny) on a daily basis. Despite my short timer status, I do have a number of things to clear up before I can move on in good conscience, including a conference call in 30 minutes. Shortly thereafter, you can expect to find me either at the gym, the beach, or Brooks Brothers. After all, all work and no play makes for a very boring pahkcah02.
After searching for about three weeks, I was given a job offer at a Fortune 1000 company. At first I felt bad about receiving such a kick-ass job offer so quickly. After all, I have a lot of friends who have been out of work for months and here I am, casually looking for a job when opportunity literally knocked on my door. As a hard-core worrywart, I was really torn as to what I should pursue. Take money off the table, and working in sweats while your boss sits in an office two states away beats waking up at 5:30am, wearing pantyhose, and sitting in traffic any day. However, after reading over the benefits package (health insurance! vision plan! 401(k)! oh my!) I reminded myself not to be a fucking idiot and take the money and run. Such is the life of a professional sales rep.
Since my new employer insists on calling my current employer before I can start, I really had no choice but to give my two weeks notice about one week earlier than I had planned. After some deliberation and in the nicest way possible, I was told to finish out the week and then take a hike. Despite the constant stress and uncertainty, my current boss is the best sales person I've ever known and just a fantastic person in general. Unfortunately the situation just didn't work out and it was better to weigh my options while I still had options available. As the Yiddish proverb states, when God closes one door, He opens another. I honestly wouldn't be surprised if I'm working with him again at some point.
I start my new job at the end of this month and I'm really looking forward to it. After being so isolated for the past three years it will be nice to encounter other living, breathing human beings (aside from Manny) on a daily basis. Despite my short timer status, I do have a number of things to clear up before I can move on in good conscience, including a conference call in 30 minutes. Shortly thereafter, you can expect to find me either at the gym, the beach, or Brooks Brothers. After all, all work and no play makes for a very boring pahkcah02.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Fantastic Fourth
I rarely get a real three day weekend so I definitely took advantage of it this July Fourth weekend. I had some friends in town, as did Wellesley, and managing to see everyone and do everything in a non-stressful manner was definitely key. The weekend started at 9:30 Friday morning when I picked the always-fashionably-on-time Queen Dee at Quincy Adams. We headed down to Westerly, RI to hang with the Republican, her husband, and their wicked adorable 7 month chocolate lab for a fun day at Misquamicut Beach.
Despite following Brenda The Aestician's advice and lathering on gallons of sunscreen, I managed to get a great tan which is the one thing I miss from my 5 summers of lifeguarding. I also got a little jealous about the amount of fun Queen Dee was having riding the waves, and headed into the water myself. The water was surprisingly warm, and is seriously tempting me to check out Newport this upcoming weekend. After the beach Dee and I headed up to Federal Hill in Providence to pick up some pasta at Venda Ravioli and delicious pastry at Scialo Bros.
Our original evening plan was to head over to the Canton fireworks, since I figure I should get something from my property tax dollars. However, we later learned that those fireworks were cancelled and headed over to Stoughton, aka: my ancestral homeland. Ikea ponied up sponsorship for the event, and it was a massive improvement over the poky firecrackers of yore.
After a brief detour to a suburban pool party on Saturday, I headed into town to meet Wellesly and his friend from Chicago for dinner. We ended up at Prezza in the North End, which was excellent, before heading over to Wellesley's mom's place to watch the fireworks. We got an absolutely breath-taking view from a Back Bay balcony and I briefly met his mom for the first time, which was really nice. We finished up the weekend by brunching at Audubon (eh, it was ok) and then headed to our Green Monster seats to watch the Sox take on Seattle.
With the week already off to a great start I hope to follow up it up with lots of other good news :).
Despite following Brenda The Aestician's advice and lathering on gallons of sunscreen, I managed to get a great tan which is the one thing I miss from my 5 summers of lifeguarding. I also got a little jealous about the amount of fun Queen Dee was having riding the waves, and headed into the water myself. The water was surprisingly warm, and is seriously tempting me to check out Newport this upcoming weekend. After the beach Dee and I headed up to Federal Hill in Providence to pick up some pasta at Venda Ravioli and delicious pastry at Scialo Bros.
Our original evening plan was to head over to the Canton fireworks, since I figure I should get something from my property tax dollars. However, we later learned that those fireworks were cancelled and headed over to Stoughton, aka: my ancestral homeland. Ikea ponied up sponsorship for the event, and it was a massive improvement over the poky firecrackers of yore.
After a brief detour to a suburban pool party on Saturday, I headed into town to meet Wellesly and his friend from Chicago for dinner. We ended up at Prezza in the North End, which was excellent, before heading over to Wellesley's mom's place to watch the fireworks. We got an absolutely breath-taking view from a Back Bay balcony and I briefly met his mom for the first time, which was really nice. We finished up the weekend by brunching at Audubon (eh, it was ok) and then headed to our Green Monster seats to watch the Sox take on Seattle.
With the week already off to a great start I hope to follow up it up with lots of other good news :).
Thursday, July 2, 2009
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