Career Girl

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.