Live Positively Conference at Coca Cola

Last month Coca Cola invited me to a mini-conference in Atlanta. I had the chance to connect with other mothers over two days of sessions covering everything from branding, product development, Coca-Cola initiatives, and women in leadership. I didn't really know what to expect, but came away impressed with some of the great things these women are doing and with a better understanding of how Coca-Cola conducts business.

Also, there were all the drinks you could ever want at any time and with zero judgment.

By far my favorite session was a panel of female executives (they've thought of everything these days!) who described the kinds of tactical and strategic choices they make everyday while on the job or in their personal lives.

I am extremely interested in the way that companies have changed over the past 20 years to accommodate not just women working, but anyone who wants to have more balance between their work and home lives. It's almost hard to describe the extraordinary tectonic shift that's happened to how we think of work since I first hit the workforce almost 20 years ago. From my experience, technology companies have been at the forefront of flexibility in hours, sharing, and telecommuting, but learning how traditional companies are also adjusting what it means to work, is fascinating. This survey is important to me because I have to work, but I am the mother of young children that are my most pressing, and beloved, priority. I have the luxury of being able to set my own parameters for employment, and I feel passionately that other people should have those same opportunities.

A few examples of how Coca-Cola is changing work:

• Open to job sharing, flexible hours, telecommuting, and both formal and informal accommodations for employees.
• The Head Strategist for Still Products (think water, juices) is a job share--meaning that two people split the job, sharing the workload. 
• 70% of Coca-Cola call center employees telecommute in the Atlanta area, and are only in the office once a week. 
• Championing and mentoring other women to be OK with their preferred balance of work and home life (sometimes we are our own worst critics.)
• A sea change inside the company over the past few decades that includes advancing women and minorities so that it looks more like the market.

When I asked if there were concerns with the quality of work, one VP replied that telecommuting employees are more productive, period. It was a challenge to move to more flexibility at first, because of policies, the education for the associate, as well as the education of managers, to help them understand the different ways employees were working, it all had to change. Transitioning workloads, seamless project hand-off, training, it all required a new learning process. The executive stressed that she had to change as a manager.

The results were fiercely loyal employees who demonstrated greater productivity.

I pressed that several large companies (like Ernst and Young) have made a point to offer women flexibility (in hours, positions, locations, levels of involvement,) because they were tired of totally losing talented (and trained!) women when they voluntarily stepped away for different responsibilities at home. How do you keep your best people? The executive confirmed that statement: we will lose our employees if we don't offer flexibility  In order to retain the best talent in the industry, they had to come up with different ways to deliver the most that they could.

The reality is that Coca-Cola is trying to reach mothers. We are the gatekeepers to the home. We make 2/3rds of all purchasing decisions, and the majority of transactions to enter a home come through women. The best way to understand mothers is to employ mothers. And when you employ a mother, she isn't an island who can cut off her personal life, nor should she be.

Direct from the vice presidents, directors, and executives:

• We bring our whole selves to work. My outside passions enrich me. It's a mistake not to have personal interests
• Nurture your personal interests, bring them to work, make them part of what you do, and give back
• Encourage the shifts in how, why, and where, to help women accomplish the work they want to do
• Lift as you climb

What's the bottom line? If you tailor a job to your employee's schedule and their life, you get a fiercely loyal, more highly productive employee as a result. It's worth it to change the way we look at work so that everyone has a better balance in their lives.

Merry Christmas to You

My readers are funny people. Generally, you're all an erudite and clever crowd.

Some of you just get the jump on others.

Like when Noelle drove to the Jet Set Pad this afternoon right as I pulled in from last minute errands.

She handed me this:

Oh yes. She is a clever, clever girl.

(And you ALL wish you'd thought of it first.)

"I can't believe it's just candy cane," she laughed as she handed it to me.

"I'll prove it, let's open it right now," I giggled. So we did and then we sampled.

Yes, it really, really is just smashed candy canes.

Behold the power of marketing.

Very funny, Noelle.

Very funny.

Thanks for reading, gang, it's a trip just sharing these silly thoughts and have anyone read them.

Merry Christmas and crushed candy canes for all!

Triple Dog Dare

A little known fact about me that is about to go nuclear: under a certain confluence of events, I can be dared into doing almost anything.

Do I know what those events are? Could I outline some sort of lunar calendar? Identify a bio-rhythm? No. It's just sometimes someone dares me to do something and I have to do it, absolute compulsion.

That's how I ended up in a Denny's restaurant last Friday eating a food construction that should probably never be eaten by a human being who wants to live to see another sunrise, let alone their grandchildren.

The lovely Famous Jay called me and said that our usual Friday lunch spot was going to be moved to a Denny's. I laughed, because why not, right?

On arrival I was presented with a menu by our very nice waitress. My friend Ryan leaned over to me and said that when presented with a menu, he usually orders the item with the silliest name. Clearly, the classic Moons Over My Hammy fit the bill.

Who hasn't eaten a Moons Over My Hammy? I don't think you can go to college without at least one questionable night in a Denny's eating a Moons Over My Hammy as the clock ticks to 2:15 am and the kid next to you explaining why Rage Against the Machine is really going to define your generation and that his Philosophy course would blow your mind because Camus is a freaking genius who really understands the modern condition.

So no, I didn't want a Moons Over My Hammy.

I spent the next 10 minutes trying to find something I did want to order. I didn't really want to eat any of it, but I was hungry. Oh, conundrums. I kept coming back to the first item on the menu: The Grand Slamwich; it looked terrible. Here's the description:

Two scrambled eggs, sausage, crispy bacon, shaved ham, mayonnaise and American cheese, on potato bread grilled with a maple spice spread. Served with hash browns. 7.49

We all debated what "maple spice spread" could be, with the consensus being that it was some sort of spray-on product. Nothing really sounded appetizing, and I had to order something. Rian dared me to eat it. He said if I ordered it and ate it, he'd pay for my lunch. He said it with his endearing sneer, just assuming I would never do such a thing.

We'd reached a Confluence of Events.


What happens next is taken directly from my Tweets:

@rianf will pay for my lunch if I order this: http://twitgoo.com/400om Worth it or too terrifying to contemplate?

It's too late tweeple, the Grand Slamwich is happening, like the KFC Chicken Bowl, must experience the cultural force of it all. 1:02 PM Oct 9th

I feel sick.1:16 PM Oct 9th

I've made a huge mistake.1:24 PM Oct 9th

The only way to rectify the horrific choice I made at lunch is to go vegan, for at least the weekend, maybe forever.2:03 PM Oct 9th

I may have destroyed my digestive system.2:26 PM Oct 9th

P.S. The vegans that just started following me based on my previous reference are going to be severely disappointed w/my future tweets.2:32 PM Oct 9th

In an effort to ameliorate the debacle that was lunch, I did go vegan: http://twitgoo.com/40ox0 I feel a little better.6:56 PM Oct 9th

When I explained what a Grand Slamwich is, and that I ate it for lunch on a dare, DH already knew what it was. Can't say I am surprised.7:00 PM Oct 9th


And that's how I saved eight bucks, ate a sandwich containing "shaved ham" which dripped an unidentifiable clear liquid during handling*, and easily relieved me of 12 years of my life!





*My colleagues contended that the clear liquid was the mayonnaise, your contention?

Help with a Shower?

I need to help throwing a baby shower; it seems I'm fresh out of great ideas lately.

The shower is at work, this Wednesday, and I can't spend too much money. Yes, it's in a conference room, so we need to make it not look so much like a conference room. Do you have ideas on cute decorations that wouldn't cost too much, but yet look classy and awesome? I do have rubber ducky cake pins pictured above from Darlybird.com, should I use or not use? Our showerette is having a girl, their first baby, and this might possibly be their ONLY shower, so I'd like to make it special.

Somedays I got the party mojo, and somedays I don't. Help me Internets!


Oh, and catch me and just one of my selfish obsessions over at Segullah today.

My Billboard is Up!

I love it so much I want to take it behind the middle school and get it pregnant.

They Know Their Time is Coming and They Are Attacking

The exterminator arrives in the morning and not a moment too soon, because I thought I’d seen all the kinds of bugs possible in this hood, but I was wrong.

Not five minutes ago I was sitting here, reading Go Fug Yourself The Financial Times when something long, black, and completely unidentifiable landed, legs buzzing with aggression, on my arm. I screamed like a girl, terrified my husband, and then smashed the offending bug with my bright blue Steve Madden round-toe heels. I guess that means I killed it like a girl.

Speaking of “like a girl,” there’s a guy at work who during the last month’s golf tournament suggested that I golfed like a girl. True, my clubs are shorter than yours. Also, I’m a girl. It simply stands to reason that should I play a round of golf, I would, with the highest degree of probability, golf like a girl.

He continued this train of thought mentioning that I dressed “like a girl” every time he saw me at work. I don’t know how to respond to that. I am female, affirmative. I often dress in clothing that is exclusively meant for women. Many times those clothes are relatively clean, and betimes, matched. I lack a trucker hat in any capacity: ironic or sincere. I have a deficit of sports logo related togs. I haven't worn swim trunks in years.

So, yes, point? Color me flummoxed. That leaves me to respond to every “like a girl” statement with, “Yes. You are correct.”

And then I feel a little like Ed McMahon.

But with no Johnny.

And because I never watched The Tonight Show as a child, those last two sentences have absolutely no resonance with me and I merely used them to elicit an emotional response from you.

(Like a girl.)

The Great Donut Debate, I Wish It Was Still 2008 (For The Rhyme)

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“What do you think about Krispy Kreme donuts?” asked Rob, a coworker of mine.
“Eh, they’re OK,” I responded.
“Just OK?” he persisted.
“The plain glazed are fine. I’d give them 6 out of 10.”
“That’s not so bad.”
“The rest of their donuts are gross. The filled Krispy Kremes are horrible. They have the worst fillings, like colored glue. Blech. They’re just sick. “
“I bet you like the donuts from Smith’s.”
“That’s disgusting. I’d rather eat dirt than a donut from Smith’s.”
“Dirt?” Jackie said, “You’d rather eat dirt?”
“Well, not dirt, but I’d rather eat nothing than a donut from Smith’s. I’ve turned them down before and will again. Daylight Donuts, those are delicious. Anyone here Canadian? How about Tim Horton’s? But Krispy Kremes aren’t good.”
Another co-worker chimed in and said, “Wow! I’ve never seen you this passionate about an opinion before!”

**BOOM**
Gosh, the sound of all of your jaws hitting the keyboard at the same time is deafening. He’s never seen me that passionate about an opinion? Contain yourselves, laughter that loud is unseemly.


The donut discussion continued to heat the cubes: what’s good, what’s bad, where’s good, and where’s bad. It was decided, mostly by Brawley Avalon, that we should have a donut taste-off. So dear readers, tell me, where do you go for donuts? Is there a hidden gem that we must include in our blind test? Am I wrong about Krispy Kreme filled donuts being the pastry of the weak and tasteless? Are you all about Banbury Cross? Whose donuts reign supreme?

(I’ll probably make spudnuts for the taste test.)

(They’re really good.)

(Yes, with actual potatoes.)


(Donut or doughnut?)

Guest Post: I Don't Use Pickup Lines

It took months of cajoling and one missed deadline, but I finally got my cubicle neighbor, sometime friend, and almost twin Brawley Avalon to write a guest post. What happened? We witnessed him work his magic on a cute girl at Five Guys. I so rarely see a pickup in action anymore (my life is all black tie parties and specious dinner clubs, where pickup lines are highly discouraged,) I begged him to share How It Works...

I don’t use pickup lines.

Is a great pickup line! Now you understand how pickup lines work.

What movie is this from? “Nobody puts Baby in a corner!”

Is another great pickup line! Showing a strong knowledge of pop culture early can give your Relationshipmobile great mileage. What other movie lines might he know! Is often what a woman is left thinking. Plus Patrick Swayze.

Knock knock!

Is another great pickup line. Girls are attracted to men who can make them laugh, unless they’re balding. Then forget it! Also, if your BMI is over 25. Then you’re best resigning yourself to another adage, which is that “laughter is the best medicine,” which is to say women see you as a balding, pudgy doctor with mild healing powers.

Is this yours?

Can be a great pickup line, unless you’re pointing to something currently in their possession.

Did you drop this?

Can be a great pickup line, unless it’s something of yours (in that instance, refer to “Is this yours?” above).

Hey!

Is for horses.

Can I get your opinion on something?

Without waiting for a response, and followed immediately by a non-controversial query about anything but religion, politics, sports or her tanning lotion, can be a great pickup line. I recommend asking how she feels about anklets, or euthanasia.

Do you believe in spells?

Is a great pickup line, provided you can follow with Real Spells! The best spells use colored handkerchiefs, small animals that can cry out in pain, and quarters. For maximum effect, quote The Prestige to make her think of Hugh Jackman while looking at you. Another way to do this is to grow mutton chops.

Did you see the fight outside?

Is a great pickup line, unless there really was a fight involving you and her boyfriend and the blood streaming from both nostrils is yours.

Don’t you love Twilight?

Is a great pickup line for all ages. My sister left the last book out. I was curious! She left them all out, actually. I didn’t have a job for awhile. Best the second time through.

Brawley Avalon is the nom de plume of a guy searching for his other half (is it you?) in the Florence of the West, where he was once dumped by a girl because he wasn't enough like Edward.

In Which I Admit Some Terrible Things

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The great thing about the kids waking up too early is that I have just that much more time to have my inadequacies rubbed in my face. Minutes, no hours, more of staring at the offending crunchy floors and splattered mirrors. Of course, I should be folding the laundry instead of blogging, but exactly what kind of fun would that be, Mr. Reality Check? I’m such a fun-squasher, too. There was just something about watching E.G. push the spinning chair with his feet and seeing the Proximo’s little toddler leg dragging outside that called for a kibosh from mom.

“BUT WHHHHYY?”

“Centrifugal force,” I answer. (I believe in telling children the truth. Next up: a history of the Khmer Rouge.)

I don’t think it’s the housework that’s really upsetting me, I’m just generally a little stressed (which is a bit like saying I’m still breathing.) I always know I’m on the edge when I find myself listening to soft rock hits in the car, or even worse, Delilah (shut up, some of you eat Cakesters.) You can read my echoed thoughts about Delilah here, but there are days when it seems like one’s blood pressure could power a locomotive and perhaps some Steve Winwood, or Bryan Adams, would actually help.

Then, on my drive to work today, Chicago’s You’re the Inspiration came on the soft rock and adult contemporary hits station. I knew all of the words, in order, and with the echo/descant. I found myself at the depths of despair for a moment, wondering what other corners of my cerebellum have been given over to contemptible hits of yesteryear. The horrors my brain must hold. I want those neural pathways back.

The next step in de-stressing is to play a round of golf, which is exactly what I do. The company’s scramble puts me in with three gentlemen. I, when reaching the last hole, throw a bit of a hissy fit and renounce golf. I may have also pounded the unsuspecting rough with my club. “I am a better golfer than this,” I storm. Curiously, that little exhibition made me feel happy and secure.

I felt so happy that I put my condo up for sale.

You want?

Things I Did This Week Instead of Exercise:

Became a vegetarian for at least four days.


Sang Foo Fighter's Everlong on Expert,
in the original register,
got 100%,
Altering my life forever with awesomeness
(Calories burned: 50--I'm a performer.)

Sang Foo Fighter's Everlong on Expert, got 100%, while nursing the baby (Calories burned: 200)

Drove my car really fast (had to take my BPM on that one, 140.)

Ate no breakfast (Calories burned: 60)

Ate plenty of lunch (Calories burned: I don't want to talk about it.)

Stayed up all night for three nights with baby (Calories burned: 175)

Got a fierce hug from the baby for snatching him out of his crib when he cried (Calories burned: 4,000,000--my heart nearly exploded into a supernova.)

Read To Kill a Mockingbird and loved it way more than I remembered (Calories burned: -300) (Easter candy.)

Hit refresh ON MY OWN BLOG to check for new content (Calories burned: 2)

Did not fall asleep in a meeting even though I got to sit in the beanbag chair (Calories burned: 10. Mostly from sketching with lots of cross-hatching and poking Ben to make sure he didn't fall asleep. I have responsibilities.)

Complained about Glenn Beck (Calories burned: 5)

Only yelled at the radio once (Calories burned: 1)

Watched Grey's Anatomy (Calories burned: 600--that was hot.)

Broke a heel on my favorite mary janes and had to walk like my toe was broken again (Calories burned: 34)

Ate one Reese's Peanut Butter Egg and one Mint 3 Musketeers (from Famous Jay's candy sinkhole) to heal the extreme emotional pain of both breaking my shoes and revealing to my coworkers that I am awfully short. (Calories burned: -250)


Like, really short.


I think I need another spoonful of sugar.

The Haunted Office, Part II

Just the other day I fixed myself lunch in the break room.  I don't remember what I had, but I do remember sticking my hand into the box of plastic cutlery above the micro.  From the depths of that box I pulled what can only be described as a perversion of nature:

A vampire fork.

Do they exist? Yes.  Was it altered?  No, this can only be cruel Nature's trick to allow such a beast to rise from the factory floor--it's a monster!

 AHHH!

The Haunted Office, Part I

Last Friday I took a note on a piece of paper. I transferred the mundane details to whatever document I needed on my computer and then I threw the piece of paper away.
Monday, that same piece of paper was on the right side of my desk. I threw it away again.

Tuesday, the paper was on the right side of my desk. “Strange,” I thought, threw it away, and then kept working.

Today, the paper was on the floor.



Point A:
Spooky piece of paper.

Point B:
My stupid, boring broken toe.

Point C:
Trash can with remains of lunch (butternut squash ravioli with veggies.) (Vegetarian.) (Not vegan.) (Cream sauce.)

I threw the paper away, again.

Will it still be there in morning?

I don’t know!

Chill in the Air

You’d think you’d be safe from Nature when you’re ensconced in a generic cubicle, but think again.

I was working on some documents for my real job when across my desk crawled an earwig.

Gross.

Really, eww.

I may work in a boring gray cubicle year round, but I can’t forget the garden where we, as children, were forced to labor all summer. I especially can’t forget the disgusting image of earwigs crawling out of our sweet corn: long, black and wiggly with those evil looking—I don’t know what they’re called—Wigs? Horns? Pitchforks of Doom? And no, I won’t go google earwigs to find out the proper name because then I’d see more pictures for sure.

Look, I’m not a generally squeamish sort of person. I am perfectly capable of thinking something is creepy and gross, yet being able to kill it or at least usher it to another spot on this planet. I stood up at my desk and asked everyone around me if they were responsible for the piece of nature earwig at my desk. When no one claimed responsibility I picked someone to blame (Nate.) I’m good like that.

Then I backed away from the creepy-crawly. That’s when Ryan walked over from the cube next door, went to my workspace, and killed the earwig with one fell blow.

At that very moment I suffered simultaneous pangs:

1. Post-feminist guilt—I can kill my own earwig, thank you very much
2. Gratitude of realistic action taken—Yes, please, kill whatever you like since you seem to want to do it and I seem to just want to complain about the thing
3. Hunger – I think I’d really like the last of the summer sweet corn for dinner tonight

This leads me to the other evening in the kitchen when I was working on some paper garlands. I stood up to arrange the flowers and felt a little normal itch you feel on your skin, except it wasn’t a normal itch, it was a spider, a big one, and it was crawling on my leg. I killed it with my bare hands (no Ryan.) Isn’t that one of the hallmarks of the weather turning? Your home’s population of life forms grows exponentially? I’m ready to say goodbye to summer, but I’m not yet ready for all the bugs and insects to move back inside with me.

Gross.

Just Driving? Really? That's it?

When my office moved a couple months ago my commute doubled from 10 minutes to 20. This is a big deal for me. I once lived in North Orem; it took me 12 minutes to drive to work and it nearly killed me. I’ve gone, over the past few years, from a 3 minute, to a 6 minute, 8 minute, 10 and now to the 20 minute.

I know 20 minutes isn’t that long, but it’s really pushing it for me. I’ve heard about extreme commuters that go more than 90 minutes each way to get to work. I’d rather lie down in the middle of the freeway than commute 2 hours each way. I can’t possibly think of a job that would be worth that kind of time. What are you doing? Knitting moonbeams with the Dalai Lama?

I’ve been trying to adjust to the doubling of commute time. It stinks because on some days I have to drive back and forth twice--entirely taxing and obnoxious. Yesterday I decided it doesn’t completely stink, just mostly. For example, just to pick something out of the air, if you need to have a good cry, driving in the car is a great place to take care of that. As long as you’re not a messy crier it’s still socially acceptable to drive and cry (thanks text message police!) The best is that you’ve cried it out before you get home so you can concentrate on fixing dinner, cleaning the pee off the bathroom wall, and wondering which imaginary elf will fold and put away the laundry.

Today I answered the phone and took a survey on green energy/renewable resources. It turns out I’m pretty happy about my electric utility. Who knew?

I’d bet that you could also have conversations with people you will never meet and be utterly charming and witty, or give them a serious tongue lashing (All of my state’s congressmen and Robert Mugabe.)

You can swear, if you’re uncouth enough to do that, when people ignore the meter lights or try to pass you on the on-ramp by going on the shoulder.

I keep trying to think of other ways I could maximize my commute. How about if I save my makeup application for the car? I bet I could master merging and mascara. I should play 52 Card Pickup; it’s the perfect solo card game for traveling, talk about no set up time!

Are there other things I could be doing?

I’d love to hear about them, gentle reader.

"Warmly Enthusiastic and Imaginative"

We decided to take a personality test at work a few weeks ago. On a technology team where I am the only girl, I’m also the only extrovert, and that is the way I like it. I can be the center of attention, as it should be.

I talked Other Half into taking the test the other night. Normally he would be beyond such tomfoolery, but there is nothing on TV right now (even poker is in repeats.) I know this might shock you all, but we’re almost complete opposites. Other Half naturally thinks that his personality is the best. He can't help it, it's his personality. I don’t attach any value judgments on his, or on your personalities for that matter (that's so ENFP.)

I watched him take the test over his shoulder. On the question, Do you think you’re weird, he selected 'no.' I almost laughed out loud. Not only do people think he's weird, some people don't even think he exists!

Afterward, we compared notes. Sure enough under Other Half’s description it said, “You don’t think you are weird, but others find you so.” It also mentioned that he tends to think his way of approaching the world is right and that he is constantly looking to see how all the rest of us can improve. This is true. I am his project. I don’t really like that I’m his improvement project (considering that there’s a faucet that needs installed if he’s looking for a project) but I’ve learned that he thinks he needs a project. Whatever.

In my list were things like “spontaneous, outgoing, empathetic” and then followed by “easily distracted.”

HEY

“Wild and crazy, acts without thinking, likely to have or want a tattoo, unprepared, prone to fantasy...”

FINE, be that way.

(I don’t have a tattoo)

(I don’t even WANT a tattoo.)

"Look," Other Half crowed, “Disorganized!” His face beamed with vindication.

"I know. See, I can't help it, it's just my personality. However, just because you don’t value these facets doesn’t mean that they’re not legitimate personality traits that can serve a purpose."

"WHAT? It says irresponsible! No one wants to be irresponsible!"

"But..."

"No one proudly admits to being irrational!"

"Humph," I said.

So dear reader, do you need a project? Are you prone to fantasy?

What are you?

Tell me more!

Casual Results

Yesterday I decided to dress casually for at least one day at work. I stayed up half the night worrying about what I was going to wear today. Alright, mostly the babies, up at night like whack-a-moles, destroyed my sleep.

This morning I found a pair of jeans to wear at the bottom of a laundry basket. Get this, I didn’t iron them.

Kids, I really wanted to iron my jeans, but I didn’t.

I have to be honest to casual day (even if they are rules I made up in my head,) and that means not taking special care for my clothes. Instead of picking a pair of heels the right size for my jeans, I dug out my adidas. Granted, they’re really cute sneaks, but they didn’t actually match my shirt. The sneaks have red stripes, and my shirt had orange on it. Holy cow. They didn’t match at all.

Do you have any idea how hard it was to find a pair of sweat socks? Well, it was, and I ended up stealing a pair of El Guille’s socks. I settle for a pair of earrings as my only jewelry. I barely did my hair. I did wear makeup, I mean, I haven't lost my mind.

I took this picture on the way to my car:

Man, those jeans need to be ironed (and possibly starched.) And yes, the jeans are rolled up and the hems are still dragging. I feel like Stacey and Clinton should be dragging ME into the 360 mirror in this get up.

I went straight onto a conference call. Phew! They can’t see how…average I look. I might have lost my masterful upper hand on that one.

When I wear sneakers I always have a startling revelation: I am short. Short, short, short, short, short. I wear heels, wedges, and platforms so often that I don't really know my own height. All of a sudden I have to look up to see people’s faces; it’s all very disconcerting. Short. Short, short, short, short, short.

I got invited out to lunch, by my very own team. They actually sent around an email and we went to lunch. I can’t help but think the clothes had something to do with it. I like to think that maybe I was more approachable, somehow more empathetic. I should wear my AC/DC shirt everyday.

They moved my desk, into the corner window of the corner office. You guys, if I’d known that all I had to do to get the corner office was start dressing like a slob, maybe I would have done it a long time ago. Who knew that dressing like you were going to the hardware store would get your career into high gear?

On my after work trip with the kids to Costco, I felt like I was just schlepping to the store. No, I really was schlepping to the store. This whole casual thing started to feel more uncomfortable. By the time I was supposed to leave for book club, I gave up. I had to get those comfortable clothes off of me. Back on went my new green top and black straight leg jeans with leopard wedges. RELIEF!!

I don’t think I’m cut out to be casual; it’s too little to deal with.

Casual

A friend sent me a picture of a Battlestar Galactica t-shirt with a toaster on the front, pleasing me immensely. I mentioned how much I wanted one to my office-mate Nathan. His brow furrowed a bit, “But, you don’t ever wear t-shirts,” he said. Now that’s true, but I do happen to love t-shirts with fun sayings or clever statements. I don’t, however, actually wear t-shirts. Most of the time t-shirts are cut for a man and I am not a man. The ones that are cut for a woman aren’t usually long enough in the sleeve for my tastes.

In fact, I pretty much don’t like casual clothes whatsoever. I figure, it’s just as easy to put on something amazing as it is something boring. And to me, casual is boring. The dress code at work is casual, not business casual (khakis and collared shirts) but actually casual, which is precisely one train stop from beachy (ugh.)

So that got me thinking, maybe, for one day, I should try dressing like all the rest of the guys. This is a big step out of my comfort zone. What if I wear a t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers? Sneakers. Hold on, I might be hyperventilating.

What if I can’t do this? I mean, I’m not even sick, or on my way to the ball park. Just kidding, I wear a skirt to the ball park, too. Do I have to wear sneakers? Don’t even suggest flip-flops, the very idea gives me the heebie-jeebies. I wonder what will happen if I leave the house and go to work looking casual (not effortlessly casual, because that takes a lot of work, believe me.)

Do you think this experiment could have far reaching implications? Will the developers relate to me? Will the collar of my t-shirt constrict my breathing? What else could possibly happen? I guess I’m embarking into the great unknown.

This is a challenge, a challenge I have…artificially set for myself.

Hey, a girl’s got to have goals.

Just Call Him Aaron Burr

Other Half called me at work from the side of the road, “I can’t drive my car. It started shuddering, so I pulled over and now the wheel won’t turn.”

I looked up the garage online and called to have a tow truck sent to pick up the car.

This, apparently, was hilarious.

“You wear the pants, you totally wear the pants,” My boss, TT, laughed.

“No, if anything we wear them equally and sometimes he wears them more than me,” I said.

“There’s no way I would call my wife if my car broke down, but she would call me!” he insisted.

“It just makes sense that he would call me,” I said, “I’m the one in front of the computer to look up the number. Besides, you know he’s not a car guy, what’s he going to do? Get out and look?”

“But would your first call be to him if you were stranded?” he insisted.

“Depends, if it was in the middle of the school day? I couldn’t call, he’d be in class, I’d call a friend,” I said, thinking I was being most logical.

TT howled.

For the next two hours he conducted an informal survey.

“Hey,” he’d ask every one who stepped into our office, “If your car broke down on the road, who would you call first?”

“But would you call your wife?” he’d respond to any answer.

I still think it made sense; I’m the one with the computer.

The next day the garage called to tell us the problem was fixed (two new front brakes.) TT said, “Hey, I bet Other Half would fall for the old ‘headlamp fluid’ joke.”

“He’s not going to fall for it.”

“Yes he will, he called you from the side of the road.”

“First of all, again, it makes sense; I was the one next to the computer. Second, he’s not an idiot: he doesn’t know a lot about cars, but he’s never had a problem with his car because his ‘headlamp fluid’ was low. Third, it’s a lamp, with electricity, why would there be fluid?”

“I bet you 10 dollars he will fall for it, and if you win, you don’t owe me anything.”

“DEAL,” I said, squarely and dialed Other Half.

“Hey, honey, the garage said that the car is done. They also mentioned that they’d top off our headlight fluid for and extra 10 bucks if we wanted them too.”

“What? They’d top off what?”

“The headlight fluid.”

“Uh, there’s no such thing as headlight fluid.”

“There isn’t?”

“No, first of all it’s a light, and second…look, there’s just no such thing as headlight fluid.”

I stifled a giggle.

“OK, well then, I’ll tell them we don’t want it.”

“Uh, good.”

And that’s when I made TT fork over the 10 bones.

Right after that is when I found a safety pin and pinned the Hamilton to my shirt. I needed to make sure that people would ask me why I had 10 bucks on my shirt so I could explain to them how I took TT’s money.

How should I spend those greenbacks?

I totally got rickrolled today.


Did you fall for anything?



If you want to get rickrolled, click here,
but don't say I didn't warn you.

Spork

I am eating yogurt with a spork. The excitement is palpable!