Career Girl

You Win Some You Lose Some

11:20am

Whether we admit it or not, all breakups are a kind of contest. In a winning breakup you know you’re doing better. While he starts smoking again you take up jogging, while he hooks back up with his tragic, hairy, stoner ex - you embark on a horizontal dance party with a Calvin Klein underwear model, while he debuts a beer gut and dark circles – everyone says you’re glowing and your ass looks incredible.

In a losing breakup you hibernate with a 3 month supply of Duncan Donuts/french fries, listening to Nick Drake and moaning - while he’s seen all over town with the 19 year old wardrobe girl from his last tour and friends report that he, “seems taller.”

So the fact that Ali’s taking a quick trip to Capri while Jule moves his stuff (one milk crate at a time) to a loft-share in Willi that he’ll be splitting with 5 other dudes, says everything that needs to be said about that particular horserace. I feel terrible because I love Ali like no other but (and maybe this is just my love of underdogs in general) my heart hurts for Jule. I went over there the other night to check his progress, and found him sitting on the floor eating Duncan Donuts and listening to Nick Drake (just kidding - but close). He was sitting on the floor listening to NPR and polishing off a jar of Nutella with his fingers. Sure, it was a liberal, quasi-European style of grieving (is it sadder if you imagine that it was a can of frosting and a Bon Jovi tape?) but it was grieving nonetheless.

Acid-Wash Face

12:10pm

Well she’s managed to top herself.

It appears that June treated herself to a chemical peel that has left her face beet-red and shiny. It’s atrocious. She looks like a boiled hot dog. I can’t even look straight at her without wincing. I have no idea how Ali manages. If I were her I’d be curled up in the fetal position under her desk all day, listening to the soothing sound of trickling water* and trying not to wet myself. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if June would just address it and move on. But in true June form it’s straight up denial all the way. Oh when will you finally be fired crazy lobster lady?

*Perhaps you haven’t been reading this blog since the beginning. Perhaps you didn’t know that June (Ali’s hanging-by-a-thread-boss) is going through a divorce, and had their entire area of the building Feng Shui’d. Perhaps you weren’t aware that at the suggestion of the Feng Shui chick, June installed an enormous, noisy fountain in front of Ali’s desk. Perhaps you didn’t know that when Ali makes phone calls it sounds like she’s maxin and relaxin in a urinal.

 

An Interpretive Dance About Abu Ghraib

9:45am

So you know how I went out the other night with Jasmine and Kelly? Unfortunately, they left the planning part of the evening to me. When it comes to activities, I tend to gravitate toward the most bizarre crappola I can dig up in the back of Time Out. Nine times out of ten, said wacky activity is a complete and total nightmare. But for some reason I seem unable to learn from my mistakes. Perhaps it’s because going to lame events attended by lamesters gives me plenty to mock. And mocking, truth be told, may well be my only bonafide hobby. 

This is really my longwinded way of saying that I took the two lovebirds to an evening filled with THE WEAKEST performance art of all time. What’s that you say? You weren’t aware there was such a thing as STRONG performance art? Good point.

The “art” consisted of the following ingredients:

a. Tragic nudity (repeat after me: it’s not performance art unless you’re naked)*

b. Spoken (ok bellowed) word

c. Hazardous (though wimpy) pyrotechnics (Kelly and Jas dug this part).

d. The senseless melting/mutilation of plastic green army men (pew).

 

*Lets pick apart a universal truth. Shall we? I know this is kinda hacky but seriously... Why is it that the people we’d NEVER EVER want to see naked go to such great lengths to ensure that we do? Ever accidentally (ok you taped it) watch that HBO train wreck, Real Sex? I once saw my Pilates instructor on an episode. For real! Of course I quit taking privates from her, and eventually switched gyms. I couldn’t get the image of her naked, Tantric breathing out of my mind. For those of you unfamiliar, think panting dog.

But naked.

And middle aged.

In a really, really, really well lit room.

Shudder.

 

Jasmine And Kelly 4 Ever

3:50pm

Kelly is still going strong with his high metal priestess, Jasmine. I’ve been giving him shit about it because he gets totally embarrassed and it’s tre-tre adorable to see him blush. He’s obviously super smitten.

Me: So….it’s been awhile now.

Kelly: Yeah.

(Focusing intently on the circle he’s tracing onto the industrial carpet with his sneaker)

Me: What? Like three months? Hey, what is that in Metal years?

Kelly: Funny. 

Me: Shouldn’t you be getting her name tattooed on your neck, like yesterday?

Kelly: Now that you mention it, it is long overdue.

Me: Are you gonna take her out to a laser light show for your third monthiversary?

Kelly: Oh that’s a really good one.

Me: So that’s a no? Oh… you’re gonna go to Medieval Times instead.

Kelly: Medieval Times is not a metal culture thing CG. There’s nothing metal about Medieval Times!

Me: There’s nothing NOT metal about Medieval Times.

Kelly: You’re an idiot. I gotta go.

Me: See you tonight?

Kelly: Yup.

Me: Wicked.

I’m going out with the two of them tonight. Bloke’s on a mini-tour and I’m solo, so I agreed to third wheel it with the headbangers. Party on.

 

And Another Chapter Closes

9:10am

Well, it finally happened. Ali left Jule. She’s camping out at my place for awhile until he vamooses with his crap. Some would say that the hard part is over. But I personally believe that the aftermath, with all the sifting through the mundane detritus of a failed relationship is somehow worse. I’m talking the separating of the cd collections, the returning of the keys, the re-embracing of activities you’ve long abandoned – like bathing or shaving your legs.

Anyway we are having a good time with our little slumber party pad. The timing could not have been better, since Bloke is away and I have nothing but free time to focus on Ali. Last night we did the total cliché face mask, home-pedi, pillow fight (just kidding) thing. Then we played light as a feather stiff as a board until Ali passed out and I put her hand in a pitcher of warm Mojitos.

Naomi Raids Humpty Dumpty’s Closet Again

5:20pm

You know it’s really winter when Naomi brings the crusty/shiny stretch pants, that I love so very much, out of retirement. And what are stretch pants really, without a darling kitty-cat appliquéd sweatshirt? Ever since Claire resumed behaving like a see-you-next-Tuesday, Naomi has regressed to her old ways – taking each and every opportunity to pluck out a jaunty little tune upon my nerve strings. Every time Claire cranks up the ice queen, Naomi counters, by boosting her culty, can-do attitude to a new high. This, in turn, has caused my homicidal tendencies (fantasies) to spike. According to Naomi, every idea of Claire’s is “amazing,” and “completely doable!” even (especially) when they are clearly neither.

Claire: You know what I see for ’09? A nice Holstein print.

Naomi: Oh yes, completely chic.!

Claire: And I’m thinking we should revisit fanny packs.

Naomi: It’s like you are reading my mind!

Ok, so those are both teensie exaggerations. In actuality Claire has great taste. But still. Her ideas are often impossible to produce and Naomi makes it hard for anyone to actually say so when she’s all hopped up on ass-kiss fumes. I mean, when you’re in a meeting with four other people do YOU think it’s acceptable to give your boss standing ovations (complete with frenzied clapping) after every sentence? Yes it’s that subtle.

The Claire Affair (and it’s ripple effects)

11:00am

Things seem to have settled down in Claire land. And by that I mean – she’s back to being bitter full time, has returned to torturing me with humiliating tasks and is no longer exhibiting the zipp-edy-do-dah body language of a few months ago. Maybe her (never confirmed) affair with Mr. Copeland is no more. Not that I’m the moral arbiter of the universe or anything but I have to say I’m relieved. It was giving me an ulcer I tell you. But I digress.

Reports from Marina confirm that Copeland is putting the dick in dictator. Apparently he is being hideous to his first assistant – who then passes the nastiness on down the line. Marina, as you may recall, is third assistant. So her life is pretty much hell-in-a-box right now. I think I’ve told you how drop dead gorgeous she is right? Yesterday, assistant numero dos sidled up and asked if she’d ever considered smart-lipo. She was all, “I think it’s so cool how you don’t buy into the whole diet and exercise thing, but it might be a good idea to address your little issue for - you know, professional reasons.” Luckily, Marina had a brownie in her desk drawer that she quickly pulled out and shoved (in its entirety) into her mouth, while simultaneously flipping 2^nd banana the bird. Awesome rebuttal!

I tell you, I’m really growing to love her.

It’s Not You, It’s Me…. Me and My Apartment

11:20am

Yawn…. Drool…

I’ve been out late with Ali for the past few nights . She is officially over Jule which brings up a particularly Manhattan dilemma - how to break up with ones boyfriend AND call the movers within hours, without seeming like a heartless bitch. God knows it’s a double kick in the walnuts to lose a good woman and a good apartment within a single day. She is just sick with pre-guilt. I don’t blame her. I abhor the countdown-to-the-dump. I think I may actually prefer to be dumped! Not that I have a ton of experience in that area. For the most part, the dudes in my life don’t dump – they just misbehave until I have to pull out a rifle and put the God forsaken affair out of its misery. Perhaps all the estrogen in Soy is to blame for the wussification of the American male. Ya think? But I digress. Bottom line: I’m sure Jule knows the end is near, so I recommend Ali rip off the Band-Aid ASAP.