I am far too old to be tearing around New York City on a Thursday night until 3 in the morning, on the back of a Harley Davidson, with my skirt hiked up around my hips. But I can't say I didn't have fun.
***
I was just at the 40th b-day party for a friend of mine who just sold his company in an EIGHT FIGURE deal. His part of the nut was seven figures, but who's counting. I am so, so happy for him! He and his wife bought a yacht and are learning to sail. I love that. Even if he does like to say that after World War II his father left Austria and went to Chile as a "tax exile." If that's what you call war criminals these days, I'd love to see what euphemism they come up with for George Bush.
***
I spent Labor Day picnicking with my friend Alisa in Battery Park, then wandering uptown on the promenade. We always have great conversations, though I did feel it was my civic duty to say, each time we passed a group of tourists, to say in a very loud voice, "Rudolph Giuliani is a VERY BAD MAN."
***
Did I mention that I love my job?
***
Okay, I'm off to Hoboken tomorrow afternoon to drink beers and listen to live blues music. Yes, I am crossing two waters to drink beer, in New Jersey. Lord, I have been tamed, haven't I?
***
Spoke briefly to the ex married man thingamajig, and something about him just makes me say mean things. What can I say, he earned it.
***
Learned today to my surprise that one of our contract models is 21. Shit, really? She looks 40, honestly. And that makes me feel good.
***
Just came from the Marshall Stack, and I have to give it the highest compliment that I can give a bar. It's a Shithead-Free Zone. I don't know how MK manages that in the heart of the Lower East Side, but somehow he makes it happen.
And with that, I'm going home to watch a re-run of "Rescue Me" that I watched twice back to back on Wednesday.
Friday, September 7, 2007
Catching Up on Jane's Job and Other Stuff
Okay. Here we are, a month later, and I am officially wallowing in the goodness of life.
I mean, after all these months, after freelancing with the Doyenne of Domesticity and the Luxury Resort chain, I landed at the Dream Job. Now, the DJ means that I get to do what I love and have fun alllll damn day. I don't see much downside to that, so I am just going to day, life is freaking great right now. I'm working for a Major American Designer, and even though Preppy is not my thing, the job is fantastic. It's the most functional work environment that I've ever been in, and I have to wave the flag of feminism here, because other than The Man Whose Name is On the Clothing Label, this company is run by women. Chicks rule. Even the ones who epitomize the Preppy Ideal of the M.A.D. I am just so damn happy going to work, and I don't feel as if the other shoe is going to drop any time soon. Yes, I know it will, but somehow I don't think it will be with the resounding clunk I've heard at other places. I'm challenged and busy all day long, and one thing I can say is that compared to this, I spent an awful lot of time fucking around at other jobs. I am literally busy (and happy for it) from the minute I sit down at my desk in the morning until I check out in the evening. Just to demonstrate how cool this company is, I was offered more money than I asked for when I interviewed. Because the company values talent and grit and brains. I am blessed.
I was plunged into the job headfirst (luckily I know what I'm doing) getting the M.A.D.'s PR department ready for his 40th Anniversary celebration, and it was so cool to work on the materials for the party. (ahem, fifty GRAND on invitations? I was in printing heaven!) Let me fondle Crane's every day, and I'm a happy girl.
I've even had three M.A.D. sightings. The first was one day as I was leaving the office and he was getting off the elevator when I was getting on. It was like those times when you see a celebrity on the street or in a restaurant (well, he IS a celebrity, I guess). That frisson of "ooh, it's M.A.D.!!!" I thought, wow, what a handsome guy, too bad he comes up to my eyebrows. The next time I saw him, it was after hours and he was shuffling around in his signature black tee shirt, jeans and beat-up boots, and I thought, "Wow, the M.A.D. looks like a little old Jewish man. Wait a minute, he IS a little old Jewish man!" Third time, he was lounging on the steps of the office reception area, having an impromptu meeting with some underlings. Very louche.
I can't believe how lucky I feel, knowing that I worked so freakin' hard to be this lucky.
Okay, there is a downside, and it's called a firewall. No blogging allowed through the company servers. And they have something called a Profanity Filter, and if you send me an email with "hell" in the text, it will be screened and quarantined. It's actually funny when you think about it. Oh, and they do restrict access to some websites, so there's no You-Tubing at work. It makes me realize just how much fucking around we do at work. Now, when I'm at work, I'm working!
And that's the Jane Job Report.
Now for the random stuff:
- Don't let your pets get old, folks. I took my 17-year-old cat in for what I thought was a standard checkup, shots, etc., vet visit, and $400 later, turns out the little shit has a kidney infection. Not only does Dorian Cat cost the earth, but now I have to chase him around the apartment every night to give him antibiotics. This requires swaddling his entire body in a towel and holding him captive between my knees in order to give him the liquid antibiotic. At this point, when I emerge from the bathroom with the bath towel in my hand, he peers at me suspiciously for a second, then bolts for the under-the-bed. I can almost hear him saying, "Feets don't fail me now!"
- And speaking of kidney problems, looks like that little issue is moot for me now. Dad went back into the hospital complaining of cramps. After all the hospital hoo-hah, turns out his bowel has completely stopped functioning and he had a colon re-section and now has one of those colostomy bags. Sheesh. I will quote Marty here, and say, "Don't get old."
- Paula, I finally checked out Sugar Sweet Sunshine with my friend C, and OH. MY. GOD. The best cupcakes you've EVER had. Fuck Magnolia and their SATC crowds (I called the cops on them one night, by the way, when they wouldn't get out of my way.) These are cupcakes to die for. I like them because they LOOK like home-made cupcakes. They're a little lopsided, but so buttery and delish that we each ate TWO.
- Having vetted, screened and edited the comments that I got in my prolonged absence, I realize that blog readers are just like cheating husbands. If they can't get it here, they will get it somewhere. So, while I can't promise that I will be a faithful and dedicated blogette, I'll at least throw you a blow job often enough to keep you interested. Just remember one thing -- THAT'S AN EXIT, MAN!
I mean, after all these months, after freelancing with the Doyenne of Domesticity and the Luxury Resort chain, I landed at the Dream Job. Now, the DJ means that I get to do what I love and have fun alllll damn day. I don't see much downside to that, so I am just going to day, life is freaking great right now. I'm working for a Major American Designer, and even though Preppy is not my thing, the job is fantastic. It's the most functional work environment that I've ever been in, and I have to wave the flag of feminism here, because other than The Man Whose Name is On the Clothing Label, this company is run by women. Chicks rule. Even the ones who epitomize the Preppy Ideal of the M.A.D. I am just so damn happy going to work, and I don't feel as if the other shoe is going to drop any time soon. Yes, I know it will, but somehow I don't think it will be with the resounding clunk I've heard at other places. I'm challenged and busy all day long, and one thing I can say is that compared to this, I spent an awful lot of time fucking around at other jobs. I am literally busy (and happy for it) from the minute I sit down at my desk in the morning until I check out in the evening. Just to demonstrate how cool this company is, I was offered more money than I asked for when I interviewed. Because the company values talent and grit and brains. I am blessed.
I was plunged into the job headfirst (luckily I know what I'm doing) getting the M.A.D.'s PR department ready for his 40th Anniversary celebration, and it was so cool to work on the materials for the party. (ahem, fifty GRAND on invitations? I was in printing heaven!) Let me fondle Crane's every day, and I'm a happy girl.
I've even had three M.A.D. sightings. The first was one day as I was leaving the office and he was getting off the elevator when I was getting on. It was like those times when you see a celebrity on the street or in a restaurant (well, he IS a celebrity, I guess). That frisson of "ooh, it's M.A.D.!!!" I thought, wow, what a handsome guy, too bad he comes up to my eyebrows. The next time I saw him, it was after hours and he was shuffling around in his signature black tee shirt, jeans and beat-up boots, and I thought, "Wow, the M.A.D. looks like a little old Jewish man. Wait a minute, he IS a little old Jewish man!" Third time, he was lounging on the steps of the office reception area, having an impromptu meeting with some underlings. Very louche.
I can't believe how lucky I feel, knowing that I worked so freakin' hard to be this lucky.
Okay, there is a downside, and it's called a firewall. No blogging allowed through the company servers. And they have something called a Profanity Filter, and if you send me an email with "hell" in the text, it will be screened and quarantined. It's actually funny when you think about it. Oh, and they do restrict access to some websites, so there's no You-Tubing at work. It makes me realize just how much fucking around we do at work. Now, when I'm at work, I'm working!
And that's the Jane Job Report.
Now for the random stuff:
- Don't let your pets get old, folks. I took my 17-year-old cat in for what I thought was a standard checkup, shots, etc., vet visit, and $400 later, turns out the little shit has a kidney infection. Not only does Dorian Cat cost the earth, but now I have to chase him around the apartment every night to give him antibiotics. This requires swaddling his entire body in a towel and holding him captive between my knees in order to give him the liquid antibiotic. At this point, when I emerge from the bathroom with the bath towel in my hand, he peers at me suspiciously for a second, then bolts for the under-the-bed. I can almost hear him saying, "Feets don't fail me now!"
- And speaking of kidney problems, looks like that little issue is moot for me now. Dad went back into the hospital complaining of cramps. After all the hospital hoo-hah, turns out his bowel has completely stopped functioning and he had a colon re-section and now has one of those colostomy bags. Sheesh. I will quote Marty here, and say, "Don't get old."
- Paula, I finally checked out Sugar Sweet Sunshine with my friend C, and OH. MY. GOD. The best cupcakes you've EVER had. Fuck Magnolia and their SATC crowds (I called the cops on them one night, by the way, when they wouldn't get out of my way.) These are cupcakes to die for. I like them because they LOOK like home-made cupcakes. They're a little lopsided, but so buttery and delish that we each ate TWO.
- Having vetted, screened and edited the comments that I got in my prolonged absence, I realize that blog readers are just like cheating husbands. If they can't get it here, they will get it somewhere. So, while I can't promise that I will be a faithful and dedicated blogette, I'll at least throw you a blow job often enough to keep you interested. Just remember one thing -- THAT'S AN EXIT, MAN!