Career Girl

The John Hughes Prescription

 11 a.m.

I don't know what exactly set it off. Maybe it was when Ali brought up her new Chanel shoe-boots for me to admire. Or maybe it was 20 minutes later when she called to tell me she'd gotten another raise. Or maybe it was at the end of the day when she announced that she'd booked a quickie trip to Bermuda for Jule and herself to celebrate. I can't pinpoint the exact moment. All I know for sure is that by the time I got back to my apartment I was up to my neck in the nastiest, blackest, most stomach churning case of the hot envies that I've had since first grade, when that little bitch Darlene came back from winter break with mother-of-pearl barrettes (I still think about them occasionally).

 
It was terrible! I mean, I love Ali so much. So on top of everything else I was totally disappointed in my own character. Anyway, I just didn't have it in me to rise above. So I decided to let myself have a total date night with jealousy and just let it run its course. As you can probably guess, the first ingredient I procured was a pint of Ben & Jerry's. Then I went to the corner and rented The Princess Bride and Pretty in Pink. Soon as I got back to the apartment, I changed into jammies, lowered the lights and commenced wallowing. There is something about watching that montage where Molly Ringwald makes herself a bitchin prom dress that helps me process feelings. Or maybe it was letting myself eat the ice cream before dinner. Who the fuck cares? All that really matters is that I was over it by morning. What a friggin relief. I swear to God, jealousy feels worse than a broken heart.

Or Maybe You Need to Replenish Your Supply of Black Market Adderall..

2:15 p.m.

Most of the office was in staff meetings all day, which is how perfect Caroline and I ended up having lunch together. I continue to find her fascinating in the same way that I find serial killers or magicians fascinating. Which is to say - I wonder what makes her tick but wouldn't want her in my apartment. I don't know how it began, but she spent the entire hour schooling me on the benefits of having pledged a sorority in college. As you can imagine, I was filled with sorrow and regret for not having done it myself (just kidding, relax). But it did explain a lot about her. Sororities may be the only demographic to have successfully merged sloppy-drunken-woo-hooing (Paaaartaaaaay!) with type-A-ambition and flawless-follow-through. All this time I've been unable to reconcile Caroline's perfect office persona with the "Party As A Verb," lifestyle displayed on her My Space profile. But now I get it. Another thrilling office mystery solved!

I will admit that she opened my eyes to some of the lesser known perks. According to Caroline, joining a sorority gives you an instant, built in network of lovely ladies across the country. Who, regardless of how they may actually feel about you (hiss hiss, claw claw), are pretty much bound to come to your aid should you need… say, an interview with a top company, approval from a co-op board, or upgraded to the short list at the office of Dr. 90210. So no matter what her heart desires, Caroline has the security of being a lifetime member of an aerobicized, highlighted and frequently blotto Sorority Mafia.

 

If It Looks like A Snake…

5:30 p.m.

I hadn't seen Marina since the key incident, but today I ran into her in the elevator when I was coming back with a Tasty D swirl for Claire. Like I said before she's always been icy, so I was surprised when she greeted me as if we'd been friends for years. Anyway, she asked me to meet her in the fifth floor kitchen in 15, and God knows I'm nothing if not obedient. So anyway, we immediately began comparing notes. She was all, "have you noticed anything lately?" and I was all, "have you?" It was a little anticlimactic as far as gossip goes because neither of us had spotted anything unusual. Both Claire and Mr. Copeland had been all business. Either nothing was going on, or they had mutually decided to tighten up their game. "But what other explanation is there for him sending her that Mandarin Oriental key?" asked Marina. Oooh..! I was impressed by her awesome detective work; how did I not realize that the fan logo belonged to the Mandarin? *

Please enjoy a sampling of the brainstorming session that followed…

Why Mr. Copeland gave Claire a hotel key - possible uses and explanations:

1. Claire is basing the autumn/winter collection on the key’s color scheme.
2. Claire has been gathering hotel keys ever since Martha Stewart told her that they make great caviar scoops.
3. Claire has an entire scrapbook dedicated to the Hotel Keys of the World.
4. Claire is re-tiling the corporate bathroom with hotel keys and platinum credit cards.
5. Claire mentioned that the office CPR kit was missing a tongue depressor.
6. And of course our favorite… Claire is schtupping the big boss.

I mean seriously, there is no other explanation, right? So anyway, Marina and I are officially office friends now, which simply means that I now have one person besides Ali to talk shit with.

* You might have noticed that reader, KLATE hipped me up to this very same detail awhile back - but of course I didn’t mention that to Marina or my ass would have been, how you say? Grass. This blog could definitely bury me if it's ever discovered.

 

She Flies through The Air With the Greatest Of Ease

12:10 p.m.

So last night, Ali and I went to see her friend Camille's trapeze recital in Williamsburg. I know you've heard me bitching like crazy lately about how all the boys are dressing in the burg, but what can I say? Loneliness prevailed. I guess I figured (correctly as it turned out) that wherever there’s a poster advertising cute, tattooed girls on the trapeze, cute boys are sure to follow. It was ridiculous! Besides myself, Ali and Camille's roommate (who barely counts, as she was stuck behind a video camera all night) it was wall-to-wall dudes. The recital itself was really fun, although some of the girls were a little bit tragic. (Note to aspiring trapeze artists: please, for the love of God, find the time to squeeze in a bikini wax - for the people!) Camille was awesome and unbelievably cute. The only refreshments were beer and cotton candy, which gave everything and everyone a warm fuzzy glow (I guess from the vicious sugar high). So as you may have guessed, I didn't leave empty-handed. I took a super dashing Englishman (ok, guitar player but English nonetheless) back to my place where we proceeded to make out for 25 minutes until the cotton candy wore off and we fell into separate, but equally paralyzing comas. It was perfect. Hyperglycemia as birth control, who knew?

 

Anything That Pulls down On The Ass Is Flattering, Right?

3:15 p.m.

I'm happy to say that Claire has been giving me bigger projects lately. This week, as she was creating her fall forecast, she asked if I'd like to produce my own. I figure she’s testing the waters to see if our thinking has become more aligned. Anyway, it was unbelievably fun to make. I dug through all of my vintage magazines and tons of the fashion books in the company library for inspiration. From there I created boards showing what I think everyone will (should) be wearing for fall ‘08. It was muy dreamy!

 

Now that I think about it, I did a similar proj when I was 12. I think it was about three weeks into the sixth grade, when - sitting at the weirdo lunch table, I let my social climbing dreams die.* Concluding (um, do you think?) that the year was going to be a colossal disaster socially (much like the prior five); I promptly began honing my "Popularity Strategy." for the seventh-grade. My top secret play book was a three ring binder filled with tear sheets and prepubescent manifestos. If I remember correctly, 90% of the plan hinged upon scoring a pair of faded Guess jeans with ankle zippers.

 

Anyway, my forecast board came together brilliantly, if I do say so myself. Claire actually smiled and nodded when I showed it to her! I know! But oh my God, the night before she reviewed it I had the weirdest nightmare ever. In it, I was presenting a lengthy slideshow titled, "A Salute to Stirrup Pants".

 

*Side note: remember when every September presented at least the illusion of a chance to completely re-create oneself? Sure it was delusional, but I kind of miss that - it seemed so… possible. I mean, I honestly remember starting each school year genuinely shocked that despite my obsessive scheming over the summer, I still didn't look like Linda Carter.

 

Not Just A Friggin River In Egypt

5:45 p.m.

So yeah, Jasper's gone. On her last day, the entire office (predictably) made too big a deal out of her departure. Let's be honest, she brought nothing positive to the table and will not be missed. If anything my productivity will shoot through the roof now that she's gone and I may earn an outstanding review based on how much more efficient I am without that bitchy little albatross around my neck. Everyone gathered in the conference room. Yes, cake was involved. But as usual, the best part was the inappropriately sentimental gifting from Naomi. She really glommed on to the whole mentor thing with Jasper. I think she saw the lunch as a real, "goodbye, Grasshopper," moment. Anyway, she gave Jasper some sort of BFF necklace from Filenes, which I chose not to look directly at, lest it burn my irises with the potency of its barfiness (and also because I've realized that this is the key to keeping a straight face). Jasper displayed some of the best behavior I'd ever seen. I mean, she gave Naomi an over-the-top sarcastic smile. But Naomi ate it up, so as far as I'm concerned, it was darling. Barry dropped in, and I didn't notice any crazy tension between him and Claire - though I did notice that he stares at her very intensely these days. And so another chapter closes… I will almost certainly drink to that.

 

That's Right, It’s Better Than Um... Mine

9:30am

Ali and I went to a house party last night in Brooklyn. If you don't live in New York, you probably don't spend the first half hour of every party snooping around the person’s apartment and speculating about how much they pay. If you live somewhere else, you probably can't relate - I guess some women are like this with diamond rings, and some dudes are like this with cars. But I doubt those competitions ever leave the confines of their particular cul-de-sac. On the other hand, I have yet to meet a single New Yorker who is truly immune to the pull of real estate porn. We all love a peak into the window of how another person lives. We seethe over the 1940s era rent-controlled palace or the loft, complete with a hedgehog boyfriend to sign the checks. Or we gloat when the girl with the genuine Kelly bag turns out to live in a linoleum hellhole.

 

So while the party itself was medium to good-ish, I spent most of it in the corner with Ali dissecting the apartment’s various pros and cons. If you’d told me a year ago that I’d be spending even 15 minutes in this manner, I would've said you were out of your friggin helmet. But alas, home envy has even infected moi. I think what really got me were the closets. There were four of them in all. Four! In a one bedroom! As sick as it sounds, by the time I'd seen closet number three I had already descended into a hideous envy-spiral the likes of which can only be overcome with the help of eBay (or Ben and Jerry). Yes, yes. I know, I know. I am in therapy.