Career Girl

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!

Ali’s A**hole

1:15pm

Well Ali is still seeing (lets just call him) Biff. She says it’s just good fun, nothing serious. But I seriously want to push him in front of a train. Not that I’ll ever have the chance, because Biff would never be caught dead riding mass trans. Anyway, I went out with them again the other night and can honestly tell you that it will never, ever, ever happen again. He is intolerably condescending to the tenth power. He did everything short of ordering me a Shirley Temple, swear to God. I mentioned that he’s only a few years older than me right? But seriously, he talks to me like I’m a 16 year old tourist from Alabama who just stepped off the Statue Of Liberty ferry. 

He talked me through the wine ordering process (you’re kidding, you smell the cork? I thought you were supposed to chew it up, swirl it around in your mouth and spit it at the waiter!), He corrected my Italian pronunciation when I ordered (who gives a fuck?! It wasn’t exactly dinner at the Whitehouse. I mean it was a yummy restaurant but there were tranny hookers right outside the friggin window), and he actually said, “you’ll understand when you get older,” when I told him his favorite presidential candidate was a douchebag. Yes, I realize that I was baiting him with my juvenile usage of the word douchebag, but for christsake let me live a little!

 I hate him. The end.

 

Money Changes Everything

 5:45pm

Luckily Ali and I haven’t had any trouble staying tight even with the growing income gap between us. So when she started dating super-successful guys I didn’t imagine it would change anything. Which is why, I must admit, the current dynamic has thrown me for a bit of a loop.

Here’s the thing. The dude she's been dating lately is so loaded that even though he's maybe two years older than me, he approaches me in sort of a fatherly fashion (this description only serves if your father is a condescending a**hole).

Anyway, it’s so ick! I’m sure that once upon a time earning power and brain power could have been safely equated – but not so much anymore. If it did we’d all be enrolled in Paris Hilton’s, “Dissecting Proust” class at the Learning Annex.

So please keep all digits crossed for me that this relationship dies an early death, as I already officially loathe his golden guts.

 

 

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.

 

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.

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.

 

Ode To The Con Ed Grizzly Man Of Midtown

4:45pm

Ali and I went out to lunch today, which is never an easy thing to pull off. But the stars were aligned because both Claire and Joy were away. Ali’s hit rough patch. I guess she’s starting to realize that she’s outgrowing Jule but she’s just not quite ready to leave him. The tacky French maid costume definitely worked its magic and he’s off go-go bars for now. But Ali says that deep down she knows it’s too late. He’s sprung a leak and it’s only a matter of time before she’ll be bailing out buckets of water.

So I did my best to cheer her up by playing “there’s your boyfriend,” with every creepy guy on the street. Why do only trolls with shag backs feel compelled to wear shirts with a neck opening wide enough to display their furry splendor (arctic temperatures be damned)? I guess they’re always hot, seeing as how they come with a mohair sweater factory installed. Anyway, Ali and I were waiting for a light to change when the aforementioned goblin-man-grizzly hybrid pops out of a manhole. It was just like that carnival game where you hit the beavers with the hammer! I don’t know what he’d been doing underground but it couldn’t have been pleasant, because on top of loosing the genetic lottery he was also visibly crabby. “There’s your boyfriend,” I said, before I could stop myself. I have no idea how he heard me over the traffic but he was not amused (nor was he, apparently, interested in being Ali’s boyfriend). “The two of yez are skinny, ugly bitches, why dontcha eat something yez ugly bitches!” He bellowed.

There’s nothing like being loudly dissed by an ogre to give a girl her perspective back. Ali and I laughed our asses off for the next hour, while obediently devouring an obscenely huge lunch.

And I Enjoy Vacationing in Flaaraadaaah

10:01 a.m.

Oh June, June June… June of the Feng Shui, June of the facial remodeling, June of the epic divorce…. Man, I love me some June!

June is an endless source of amusement. The ways in which she tortures Ali are many. One of the things that always manages to get under Ali’s skin is June’s inability to actually laugh (the fact that she's up to her tatas in Botox probably doesn't help). Instead, when June thinks something is funny, she just says (flatly), "That's funny."

Now in reality, whenever anyone says, “That's funny”, it means that it most decidedly is not funny. But in June’s case I can't be sure. Zombie Queen is on autopilot and who the hell knows what she’s thinking, maybe deep inside she’s cracking the f’ up.

Sample convo:

 Ali: June, check out this Onion article about freeing the American Apparel models.

June: (reading the headline over Ali's shoulder) funny.

Ali: (to self) so help me God, woman, I will kill you with my bare hands.

Ali and I were trying to imagine this character trait translating into other situations.

A mugger jumps out from behind a tree and puts a gun to June's head.

June: (flatly) scary.

June’s 22-year-old personal trainer volunteers to be her sex-slave for the weekend.

June: (apathetically) hot.

June learns that all of her coworkers have been spying on her J-date account.*

June: (emotionlessly), humiliating

We've literally brought each other to tears laughing about how June must sound in bed

June: (coldly) yes…yes… yes.

*In case you were wondering - yes, super-duper true.

Oooooh So Dirty!

1:15 p.m.

Ever notice how the universe tends to cruelly balance out a good thing with a bad thing? Sometimes in big ways - like how the lives of lottery winners always end in trailer-tragedy. And sometimes in little ways - like how everyone lost 10 pounds overnight on Atkins, only to gain atrociously bad breath (think corpse with a side of turd).

No you say? Well, damn it, I noticed.

Remember how Ali got a huge raise recently? Perhaps you’ll recall that I reacted to the news like a complete and utter ass (albeit internally)? Anyway, it turns out that it's been causing all kinds of gnarly problems for Ali at home. Jule feels totally emasculated because Ali’s been paying for everything. And Ali’s been paying everything because she’s making lots of money and wants to do more expensive things. Consequently, he’s been engaging in all manner of early-man activities, mostly tit-bar related. He’s been out with his “boys” all hours and acting defensive and cocky about it when questioned. It's a messy mess.

So, one point for poverty at last!

Bringing the scorecard to:
Poverty 1
Wealth 9,000,000,000,000,000.00

Possible marketing campaign:

Poverty: keeping men feeling manly since for-fucking-ever.

Anyway, Ali and I talked about taking a trip down to Kiki’s so she could get a hot little getup and give him a private table dance that would get his ass in line ASAP. But then we realized – men could really give a crap about quality. In fact left to their own devices they tend to choose really tacky lingerie, (i.e. itchy, synthetic, red…) so we went to Pleasure Palace and got the cheesiest French maid getup you’ve ever seen. I predict he’ll be reformed by morning. Stay tuned.