Wednesday, May 8, 2013

On Amy Schumer, Soda, and Booze

Happy Hump Day, Bloggies!

Congrats on making it (almost) halfway through your week. Only two more days of either not noticing what day it is because you don't work or hair-pulling agony because you want to see Friday afternoon so bad you can taste it. Either way, I applaud you.

So, today is gonna be a little all-over-the-map, so to speak. I usually write myself little notes on my thoughts that I have for blog topics, and last night was a busy night for my notebook. Some days are good like that - me furiously scribbling down notes on interesting thoughts and topics to write about. Others are more like me thinking of something funny, and then considering getting my notepad, and then deciding that staying on the couch is the best option. You win some, you lose some. Moving on!

Note 1:

- Amy Schumer is basically a white, female, Jewish version of Dave Chappelle. Am I wrong? Race, sex, religion, sex, bowel movements, sex. It's all there. And what is it about Jewish girls that makes them (us) so funny?? Is it the guilt?  Is it the ever-present dichotomy of eating eating eating yet being told to stay thin? I ask you, who can eat kugel and then never eat carbs again?? NO ONE! When will the madness end? Take a look at this clip from her new show. Is it not more than slightly reminiscent of Dave's sketch about the blind black man who joins the KKK? No? Is that just me?

Note 2:

- Why the hell do fast-food restaurants offer various size options for their drinks if they are all THE SAME PRICE? If I have to listen to one more "team" member tell me I should just go ahead and get the large because it is the same price as the medium in that tone of voice that suggests I just crawled out from under a rock because don't I know that all drinks are the same price and why don't I want a gallon of soda and why do they have to explain this to me because isn't it posted on the sign above their head and ughhhhhhh...never mind, they'll just give me a medium. Seriously, just have one size. Call it, "Pee Your Pants", call it, "Bladder Buster", call it, "Can't Sleep For Two Days Because I Just Drank The Sugar Equivalent Of An Eight Ball." I think what pisses me off more than the extra time it takes to go through this process of being told all about my poor decision in drink size, is the attitude that accompanies the being told about my poor decision. Like I need the clerk to sass me because I want a medium unsweet iced tea. I've taken to telling them about my small bladder in exchange for their helpful commentary.

Note 3:

- Why do parents refuse their childless friends booze at social occasions? Is it to punish us for not yet producing crumb snatchers? Is it to encourage us to leave the party within one hour of arriving? I hail from the camp of, "Cocktail Hour", which meant that any social gathering lasting more than 30 minutes was automatic grounds for a wet bar. But lately I have noticed a trend of dry showers, parties, dinners, or anything else including children. I'm not suggesting that we serve the kiddos a sippy cup of Pinot, I'm just saying the rest of us not operating poop-filled diapers and Bugaboo strollers would like the option of a not-so-virgin smoothie with our cupcakes. I wouldn't be so quick to judge if I had not been offered a sip from the ol' flask by a fellow party-goer or two over the last few months. And though I am not one to drink just anything, I have been known to suffer through a bad whiskey in dire circumstances. And sometimes that means Skippy the Clown's third rendition of "Mary Had A Little Lamb."

So, there it is, a peak into my notepad. I can't share all my thoughts in one day, obviously, because some of us have work to do. And by us I mean you.

Happy Wednesday,

Tuesday, May 7, 2013

Let's Talk About Dress, Baby

Good Afternoon, Bloggies!

I hope this Tuesday afternoon finds you all well.

Today, I wanna talk about clothes. Specifically, the clothes we wear to work. You see, most of the work I do, I do from home. This means that the people I dress for are myself, the cats and the dog, and therefore more than half my intended audience comes to work naked...just to give you an idea of where this discussion is starting from.

However, there is one other person I work with, and that person is Brian. And as we all know, Brian is not one to follow the "norm." Brian has worked from home for two years now, and I think I have seen him work in his pajamas maybe a handful of times. The man likes to dress, and I mean DRESS, for work. He wears his slacks, his button downs, his loafers...the whole nine yards. When he's feeling fancy, he even puts on cologne.

I, on the other hand, am a subscriber to the theory that working from home means working in my PJ's. I've seen the commercials, you know the ones where the girl is all of 12 and making this great career for herself working from her couch in her PJ's and laughing at her computer screen like the data entry she is doing is a rendition of Monty Python performed entirely by an esoteric mouse troupe. No? Is that just me?

Anyways, that is the category of "dress" that I fall into. I do coordinate my lounge wear though, and keep it classy with bright colors and making sure I don't wear the 10-year-old Bishop Kenny shirt with the mustard stain. But honestly, I get paid for my brilliant writing and communications skills, not to look good, and for the most part my coworkers don't comment on my wardrobe. The other day, however, someone just couldn't keep their thoughts to themselves, BRIAN, and this conversation ensued:

Brian: What are you typing so furiously about over there? And why are you huffing and puffing?

Me: And blowing the house down? I am FINE. I am just commenting on an article online that is filled with completely misleading information.

Brian: Mmmm hmmm. How is that social media strategy coming along?

Me: Are you insinuating that I am wasting my time? Because I assure you I am not.

Brian: I'm just trying to figure out what you're working on.

Me: Serious journalism.

Brian: I may take you more seriously if you didn't say that while wearing Christmas pajamas. In May.

Me: I will thank you not on comment on my choice of outfit, Mr. "What do you mean a purple shirt doesn't go with blue shorts?"

I only wear the Christmas PJ's when all of my other "outfits" are in the wash. Or when it is Christmas...or somewhere around that season. Basically they are very comfortable and it is my house/office and Lord knows the cat isn't judging. And it's not like I don't own work-appropriate clothes. I worked in an office environment for years, so I have the skirts and dresses and slacks and boots and heels and button downs and on and on and on. I just don't enjoy wearing them to come to work in my living room.

I am alone in this? Is there anyone out there who dresses up for working from home? If you don't work in an environment where the dress code has been set for you, is it ok to make your own rules?

I think so.


- Shana