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.

What Happened to Borders: A Tech Warning to Businesses

The news came last week that Borders Books, unable to secure a buyer for the company, would be liquidating their merchandise and closing all their stores. 

I’m sad. 


Not just because Borders is my favorite bookstore, but because I’m a former employee. 


I worked at my favorite Borders for four years while I finished university. I was a manager and then did community coordination work. I loved working there; it’s one of the jobs I was sad to leave when I went to work in the corporate world. You can read about some of my bookstore adventures here and here.

Retail is a hard, complicated business and it’s hard, grueling work. So many of the stories discussing Borders demise noted how the company couldn’t compete with Amazon.com, or even Barnes and Noble. 

However, the story goes so much deeper and carries far more lessons for the business world than simply being “unable to compete.” Why? Because Borders was unwilling as a corporate entity to adopt new technologies at a fundamental level.



When I opened my Borders bookstore in 1998 I was the Human Resources Manager. The brand new computers installed were running Windows 3.1, hopelessly outdated in 1998. We didn’t even get Windows ‘95, already more than four years old in 1998. We finally upgraded to Windows 95 sometime after the year 2000. It was the hallmark of a company that didn’t understand how important technology was to their business market. There was no Internet access in the store. Some of you may not have been online in 1998, but I was an old hand, and so was Amazon.com. Not even the managers’ computers in the back of the store had Internet access. If a customer wanted to look something up, we couldn’t use the Internet, we were dependent on databases provided to us by the company--and who knows when they were updated last. Books-in-Print, BINC (Borders Inventory Control) all of those were either internal databases, accessible through an intranet, or a limited access proprietary database that we had the rights to use. It was frustrating and laughable.



Borders launched their website around 1998. Prior to that launch, you couldn’t purchase books through Borders.com. Barnes and Noble.com launched far before Borders.com. Keep in mind that Amazon.com had been online since 1995. Borders couldn’t come up with a website where you could purchase items until 3 years later. That’s an eternity in both the retail and technology worlds. After trying unsuccessfully to make a go of online sales well after online book retailing, and Barnes and Noble.com, Borders ceded their online presence to Amazon.com, funneling all their traffic directly to them. They gave up. I’m not saying they shouldn’t have given up, it’s clear that Borders.com wasn’t working, but it’s because they were so late to the game that it failed so abjectly.

Borders had another handicap that was an initial advantage. Soon after the company was founded, they came up with an internal inventory system called Book Inventory Systems. In an age before widespread computerization, BIS was a marvel of book inventories. Other companies licensed BIS. However, after the computerization of both the regular business world and, increasingly, retail, BIS was no longer an advantage. The system became an archaic and artificial way to manage inventory. The extra time to sticker each book with its own BINC number, imposing the BINC system over every aspect of inventory, managing the databases; it was unsustainable opportunity cost.



It’s also true that Borders diversified into CDs, DVDs, and scads of other items at the peak of saturation and popularity. The cost to maintain CD/DVD areas and selection is expensive; the infrastructure necessary to each bricks-and-mortar location is expensive; it all came at the tail end of market demand. I remember one music employee who, in 1999, scoffed at the customers buying music because she knew she could just go home and Napster the same inventory she hawked during the day. She accurately called the death of retail CDs/DVDs. No one at Borders Corporate saw that coming. Just one more example of both willful ignorance and hubris in the face technological change.



There are other traditional business reasons why Borders failed: over-expansion, saturation of the market, transient company ownership and poor strategic partnerships; it’s all relevant (read more about it here under Gale Directory-BGI.) However, from this person on the ground level, Borders never understood what the Internet and technology would mean to their business. They failed to make investments to their informational underpinnings. They failed to act quickly in the new Internet marketplace. They didn’t understand what could happen, they didn’t listen when employees brought up the technological gaps. They didn’t position themselves to either take advantage of e-readers (until it was too late) or accurately communicate why they were an alternative. They rested on strategies from a bygone era and prided themselves on internal technologies that were 30 years out of date. They ignored the signs, refused to change, and when they did change, it was too late.



And that’s a shame, because Borders was a great company.

A Cover Song Makes Me Lose It

The iPod in my car started playing Jeff Buckley’s Hallelujah about ten minutes from my home this afternoon. I sang along with Buckley and started crying. In my primary defense, I am thoroughly pregnant. I have no accountability on emotional control. Second, David’s story always upsets me with its trade of eternal glory for obsessive love; it is utterly human.

My friend Andy asked his Facebook friends to name their favorite Old Testament story. I could say David, but he just breaks my heart into pieces, he’s not my favorite. I answered Hannah and Samuel, because her story can make me cry even when I’m not pregnant. (Truthfully, I love the Old Testament and its wild stories: women killing men with spikes, hiding idols under clothes, lies, battles, cursing, prophecies, poetry, and enduring love. Do you remember that after Hannah gave her beloved, longed-for, adored child to the Lord, she visited him every year? And every year she brought a new coat she’d made for him? Sniff.)

With the exception of persistent episodic crying, each of my pregnancies has been very different. Last time, I was sick for seven months. My temper was ever seconds from exploding. I went through most days unbelievably angry at everything. I had a high-pressure executive job with an underground parking space and serious responsibilities. Consequently, my blood pressure was a constant concern. It wasn’t until a strict talk with the midwife and a renewed commitment to daily yoga that I was able to control my temper.

This baby makes me sick and tired.

Not the kind of sick and tired that your mom used to get when you wouldn’t pick up your room, left your backpack in the hallway, and your friends had eaten all the Fruit Roll-ups, but the separate notions of both a.) sick and b.) tired. Oh, and I forget about c.) absentmindedness. I simply don’t have a lot to get angry about. I should be more stressed about the lack of regular income that I’m bringing in, but I have acquired some sort of happy faith that our situation will resolve itself in a happy way.

The angry pregnancy created a calm and sweet baby. Will this calm pregnancy make an angry baby?

I forget where I’m going with this post...

Dispatches From the Bread Line

This is a hard post to write.

For the second time in a year I find myself without a regular work/job type thing. Sure, the “economy is bad” and “times are tough” but those are for other people, not me and mine, right? I shouldn’t be under that delusion anymore, but it’s still hard to accept. We’re trying to figure out ways to cover the bills and it’s getting tight. I know deep down that everything happens for a reason, and that things fall apart so others can fall together; it’s just a little heart-stopping in the mean time.

I think the last time this happened, back in March of this year, I was in a far worse place. Not only had I lost my job of three years, but my mother had been diagnosed with a virulent cancer (that happened on the same day, in the same hour, by the way.) I was a mess. I’m not a mess this time (at least not yet.) My mom is doing well. I’m grateful that I was able to find work relatively quickly and that I got to work for a great company for the past six months. I felt impressed when I considered taking the offer that I should take it, but that that job would be short term. Since most of my employment life has been measured in years, I was a little shocked when it turned into months, although I probably shouldn’t have been.

I’m definitely trying to fight the feeling of fear with the feeling of gratitude. I know we’ve been placed in our home for a reason, although it’s been a struggle to fit into our neighborhood. We have wonderful friends and family who buttress us. My husband does important work, work that really does change the world, I wish with all my heart it was enough to support us. I’ve heard that there are women out there that demand that their husbands change careers. I couldn’t do that. He loves what he does, and more importantly, he’s amazing at it: he has the highest student test scores in the district.

While we figure out what happens next, I could use a prayer, a candle, or a Budda-belly rub, whatever it is you do.

If you know of anyone who needs contract writing work, I can fill that need! I can create great SEO-friendly web content and results-driven marketing copy. In my last job I was responsible for creating copy for a dozen individual business concepts each with their own unique voice and vision. What’s more, I like doing that kind of work and it shows in my final product.

Two part blog! It's like you're getting the range of human experience only in a limited way!



Part One: Where I Lament the Common Man

There was an election Tuesday, and, as usual, it didn’t matter that I voted, or that I cared, or that I hoped people would come to their ever-loving moderate senses for once in their lives (they won’t.) I’ve never missed an election, even when it was me holding a toddler, a baby, and facing down 3 elderly folks.

Another 2-6 years represented by people who won’t represent me, and, in fact, do their best to embarrass me at every possible moment. At least this wasn’t the 2004 election, when I cried for days and couldn’t get out of bed. Not a joke, although we can turn it into one: what do you get the girl who got another 4 years of a man she found the antithesis of all her values? An E.U. passport!

And this also wasn’t the election of 2008, when I wrote this post and half of my readers unsubscribed. You won’t unsubscribe, will you? I need you, even though most of you statistically voted differently than I did. I’ll still be civil, I just need to sniffle a little (you understand, right? Of course you understand! Barack Obama is still your President and statistically you’re sniffly about it!)

Part Two: Where I Turn on the Common Man

But all that misanthropic sorrow was yet to befall me when I left to meet Susie for her birthday dinner that night at a restaurant to which I’ve never been. I’d heard good things, so I was looking forward to the experience. The food was fine (my entree fine, the creme brulee curdled,) but the service was unbelievably bad.

I arrived late (VOTING) and snugged in next to Tiffany. She’d ordered two cheese plates for the table which had been consumed before I arrived. She flashed me a look and told me that she’d asked some questions about the Camembert that the menu advertised before ordering. The server said, “The what?”
“The Camembert. What can you tell me about it?”
“You mean the Brie?”
“No, it said the Camembert.”
“We don’t have that.”
“But, it says right here...”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Tiffany pointed at the menu.
That was when some smart girl at the table spoke up and said, “She’s talking about the Camem-BERT”
“Oh! The Camem-BERT!”

It didn’t get much better. Like when Tiffany tried to pay for herself and Susie because she had to leave early. 20 minutes after she gave the server her card, he returned with ALL the bills and hers still not run.

The bills were all mixed up, people charged for things others had ordered, people charged for things they never ordered--and everyone charged 1/8th and 1/8th for the two cheese plates that Tiffany ordered. This is in an empty restaurant, by the way.

“Well,” he said, “Sorry. You all moved around so much I don’t know who had what. I can’t run them again after I’ve already run them. So, if you could just mark on your bill what’s right and wrong and then I’ll run them through.” And then he left.

Yes. I had to break out a pen to cross out the 1/8th and 1/8th of cheese plates I was charged for, cheese plates I had not even arrived early enough to consume.

When one friend brought up that she was charged for a dessert that another had ordered, the server suggested that the original dessert-orderer simply pay my friend in cash later.

Tiffany appeared to be on the verge of homicide. I flagged down the server and explained (AND WROTE on the bill) that Tiffany should be charged for both cheese plates, Susie’s meal, and that he needed to close out her bill immediately. He started to explain something and I cut him off--”Please run it now. Thank you.”

He scurried off to run Tiffany’s card (a short 40 minutes after she first gave him the card.) Here’s a shot of her new and improved bill, in case you’re interested:

As a former server, I was embarrassed for him! And also annoyed by him!

Just like you are with President Obama!

Now, let's all hug.

A Random Story

A few weeks ago I read a story on The Awl (that's not unusual, they post 20,000 times a day.) The post was a funny invitation for The Awl's normally liberal readers to ask a few questions of a conservative in the name of open dialogue, furthered mutual understanding, and to un-wad some panties over conservatism in general. This particular conservative happened to be a Mormon originally from Utah. I posed my own question and then followed the link to the blog he runs with his brothers: Don't Do Dumb Things. (Seriously solid and funny writing right there; you should probably subscribe.)

I recognized one of the brothers from some guest posts he'd done on other websites. I followed a link to his wife's blog where I read that they were moving back to the UC from another state because he'd accepted a new job and definitely Did Not Want to Move to P-Town. You know me, I had to defend P-Town, it's a requirement of my not-shut-up-ingness. This sort of thing happens all around the internet all the time (usually by me.) So that was nice I did that.

Hey, remember that job I started a month ago? It's pretty sweet. I like it, and yes, they actually do stuff and it's an actual business (because I know some of you Kacy were worried.) My team is five people, including me, and that's great. On Tuesday a new guy came over to our area and introduced himself. He and I stared at each other for about 30 seconds before we simultaneously said, "NO WAY."

Turns out it's the brother. I was giving moving advice to my new co-worker. THE INTERNET, EVERYONE!

That night I told Other Half the story as I brushed my teeth. "Isn't that random?" I said.

"No," he responded, "It's coincidental."

"Sure, but what are the chances, right? Then again, I got to thinking about it and the chances probably aren't as astronomical as you'd think because they're originally from Utah, went to the B.Y., and we probably have a lot of connections."

"The probabilities are incalculable; the variables aren't measurable."

Gang, this is what it's like being married to Math Guy. He starts talking absolute and existential and then pretty soon he's proving unicorns don't exist again and I don't need that heartache.

Run free, brave Unicorn Kitten Pegasus that I know exists.

source

And go read DDDT.

My Billboard is Up!

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

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!

So Busy

I've been so busy (how busy) that I haven't had enough time to blog! It couldn't be that I'm having problems coming up with something to write about, or that I'm stressed at work, or making something for the Nie auction, nope, it's that I'm busy! I'm scurrying to and fro, so busy, like some sort of woodland creature, but I'm too busy to pick which kind, so let's just say busy! I'm SO busy that I think I need to make today's post into bullet points for more efficient reading and built-in categorization.

• Day 5,000 of me making Soviet references at work passed today. For the count: I banged my shoe on the table once, and made two Five Year Plan jokes. Dead air. I will never learn.
• Another colleague found out that they are allowed to curse around me. I feel so happy that I'm able to provide them with a soft space to make such foul-mouthed remarks. I truly don't mind if you curse in front of me, I just ask that you do it well and with panache. Don't be lazy in your cursing, because that's boring (and makes you look brutish.)
• Even after the colleague indicated that I could swear as well, I didn't. Whoa. I tried to and the word just wouldn't come out of my mouth. It looks like trying not to cuss out loud for the past months actually worked. Hmm. I feel...good about this?
• The biggest problem with me making a bag for the Nie auction is that I get completely carried away with where this will take me. I'm sewing the bag and all of a sudden the person who buys it is walking down the street and people start gasping and pointing because they all want one as well. They absolutely have to have the name of the designer. I'm inundated with requests to make more, more, more and I have to start looking at outsourcing. The fame is dizzying but I'm handling it really well. I'm so grounded, yet fabulous. I'm guesting on Project Runway to host the challenge and special guest judge. And that's how I end up looking up Chinese factories online, troubleshooting outsourcing, and designing my label, all before I've even fused the interfacing and cut out the lining.
• Oh, would you look at that? It's almost 10:30, time for me to start sewing again or Project Runway is never going to call.

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.

A Very Special Episode

A little while ago, I had a project for work that I had to finish and not a lot of time to complete it. I knew that I'd be up late writing some documentation and that I would need help staying awake. I dropped by the store to pick up some bread and decided that I didn't want a soda to keep me awake. I did, however, want some ice cream. And that's how I walked out of Smith's with a pint of Ben and Jerry's Coffee Heath Bar Crunch. Two birds, people.

Even though there isn't much caffeine in that ice cream, there's enough. Boy howdy am I caffeine sensitive. I'm mostly a social drinker of cola but I have to be careful not to drink past a certain point in the evening (like 6:30pm) otherwise I can't get to sleep at a reasonable hour. On this evening, that was precisely the point, no sleep for me at a reasonable hour, even if desired.

I enjoyed a couple spoonfuls and put it back in the freezer, then chatted with Sue, looked up the meaning of some words, wondered if the shirt I wanted went on sale, that reminded me of that one pair of shoes....PROJECT. What is wrong with me? Focus! I knew I'd pay the price the next morning if I didn't buckle down. It's bad enough to artificially keep yourself awake without actually doing what you're supposed to be doing. I finished in the wee hours and crashed.

The next morning I was greeted by El Guille jumping on my bed. Blerg, I felt like I was swimming through water. Jump! Jump! Jump! He was bouncing all over me. "Get up mama! Get up! I want some breakfast and toast and to watch a show on TV and I want two shows and can I? Can I? CAN I? WAKE UP!"

I made myself get out of bed and staggered into the kitchen.

El Guille started to run around in circles, through the kitchen, into the living room, hallway, around and around. "AND I want some TOAST and some COCOA," he shrieked."I am never doing this again," I thought. Then I had to stop thinking actual thoughts and just concentrate on moving my hand to stir the kid's cocoa.

El Guille said something to me and I tried to process his words, "And then can I? Can I? Can I PLEASE?" I mumbled something unintelligible about needing my glasses so I could do something (Butter toast? Find remote? Remember my own name?)

I cursed my past self for being so mean to future self; a double whammy--up too late and too much fake stimuli. El Guille was tearing around the room, leaping from chair, to sofa, to table, to piano, all while talking a million miles an hour. I can't even formulate a sentence and he won't shut his mouth. That was when I noticed it...

The empty carton of ice cream on the kitchen table.

The empty carton of CAFFEINE ice cream on the table.

All of a sudden, it made sense to me. I'm not moving too slow, El Guille is moving at the speed of light. He had gotten up, opened the freezer, and decided that ice cream could be breakfast, caffeine ice cream. He's become a photon. A photon that talks faster than Janet.

OK, universe! I get it.

Caffeine ice cream is bad. The bad caffeine ice cream drugged my child. I drugged my child. He didn't even make it to public school before I hopped him up on something or other.

Is that egg?

No, just object lesson all over my face.

"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.

Larry (Not His Real Name)

Once upon a time I hired a guy with pony tail whose name was Larry.

It was my first holiday season as a human resource manager and I was supposed to hire some temps for the bookstore. Larry’s neat application was interesting. He was on leave from a university across the country to care for a sick parent. Larry taught in the business department and just wanted a little part time job to get him out of the house and maybe earn a little cash. Larry wore a thick off-white sweater to our interview. The pony tail was a little “60s reject” but hey, he kind of fit the whole package—aging hipster, round Lennon-type glasses, kick-back, patches-on-sweaters professor. I hired him because we needed someone who could be in charge of the business books section.

Larry was fine at first. He was quiet and seemed kind. Everywhere Larry went he carried a yellow legal pad and a Bic ballpoint pen. The pad gave him an air of being busy, even when he wasn’t.

He wore the off-white sweater everyday. The shirt underneath would change, but the baggy off-white sweater stayed. My manager Rebecca and I would puzzle over this self-imposed uniform (and the wide-wale corduroys.) However, an idiosyncratic fashion sense in the book industry is hardly something remarkable--after hire Larry grew a 'stache.

One day I went into work and noticed a note in my box (all employees had a cubby where we could place notes or announcements.) The note was handwritten on yellow legal pad paper. Larry had listed several defects in my management style and was kind enough to point them out to me. It took it to Rebecca, who laughed at it and told me that the list was wrong and not to worry.

The next day there was a note in Rebecca’s box. The following day there were handwritten yellow notes in all the manager’s boxes. Larry didn’t say a word. He didn’t say, “Hey, get my note?” or “Have you thought about the things that I suggested?” Nope, he just kept leaving notes. My favorites were the ones that suggested that we do a better job at motivating the employees. He thought that we should bring in balloons for the staff, or buy some dollar store prizes. Uhm, Larry, these are college students. College students want more money or food. Three year olds want balloons.

You would see Larry wandering around with two or three books and his legal pad. When you’re shelving books you have library carts full of books, it’s not common for you to have just a couple books in your hand for 8 hours. Suspicious. One night while looking for some overstock (the books that you had to reach by ladder) in the business section, I found almost two dozen books from all around the store hidden between the light fixtures and the overhead shelves. Big no-no, especially during the holidays. We had a nice talk with Larry, and reminded him that you cannot hoard books for purchase. He was allowed to put books on hold for himself like the other employees, but hiding them? No. So Larry just moved his hoarding place. He moved the books to different section’s overstock, or hide them in the back stock room. We’d find stashes of books in lots of places, all of them Larry’s. I seriously did not understand.

By the time we figured out that Larry was off his rocker it was too late to get another temp, we were stuck with him through the holidays.

One day in mid-December Rebecca got a call from her regional manager. “Who is Larry?” asked the regional manager.

“He’s a temp,” Rebecca answered, “Why?”

“Because Larry has gone over your head and applied for several general manager positions in the company including for the new store in Hawaii.”

By this time we understood that Larry wasn’t just off his rocker, Larry was crazy—crazy off-white sweater pony-tailed Larry. He kept leaving us long, two and three page handwritten notes on the yellow legal pad.

A week before Christmas Rebecca was due on a conference call with all the general and regional managers from the entire company along with the President of Borders. This is how the call started:

“So,” said the President of Borders, “What’s with temps in Provo, Utah?”

Rebecca almost died.

Apparently, Larry was unimpressed with our responses to his notes, so he took it upon himself to mail (you know, envelope, stamp) yellow legal pad notes to the president of the company—repeatedly. Larry did not understand why he was not already in charge of the Borders in Hawaii. He did not understand why his request to transfer to other glitzy locales had also not been fulfilled. Keep in mind that at the time of these notes Larry had been employed, as a temp, for exactly 6 weeks. The president assured her that Larry’s psycho temperament really did shine through those handwritten missives and that it was actually pretty funny.

Needless to say, Larry was the first temp to go when we let go our holiday staff.

In 2004, Utah had a gubernatorial election. The previous governor was not going to run for re-election so the field was wide open. I happened to turn on the TV one night to watch the gubernatorial debates. There, on stage right of the dias, was Larry.

YES, that Larry. Oh, he had cut his hair, shaved the 'stache, and was sporting a navy suit, but the glasses were the same. Larry was running for governor. Don’t worry, Larry lost, but seriously people…

Yesterday I walked out of my office and into a gaggle of boys. Oh, you didn’t know that boys can be a gaggle? Well, they can.

“YES!” said DCart to me, “What are you doing tonight?”

“Uhm, that depends”

“We’re playing a game tonight. We need help with our football team.”

“Well, I AM the Quarterback Princess,” I said.

“No,” laughed DCart, “We don’t have anyone to watch the kids at the game. Our wives are all busy with obligations.”

a.) I am not your wife and

b.) Watch the kids?

Watch the kids?

I barely want to watch my kids sometimes, let alone your kids. Sorry, I’m going to be too busy to watch the kids. I’d rather watch the paint dry.

I was watching my kids this morning (yes, really, peanut gallery.) Is it bad that I'm secretly thrilled when Proximo ruins El Guille's elaborate train track set up? After all the times I clean up after him, it's kind of like the baby is getting my revenge for me.

“You should keep him still!” said El Guille in his most adamant voice.

“Mmm,” I responded noncommittally.

Soon, I shall be pitting them against each other in small cage matches and charging three bucks for entry. Don’t worry I’ll put most of the proceeds into their college funds. Hey, remind me to set up college funds for them.

A Nie-Day

Congrats to my friend Nie on the occasion of her blog's second birthday. May I present my day in a Nie-flavored post?

First things first...

I avert disaster single-handedly.

This was his second attempt of the day.
The first was Ketchup.

I'm onto you, Filthy Padawan!
I see a fridge lock in your future.

Proximo wakes up to brighten my day with his sweetness.
Munch, munch that baby is so cute.

They're playing together!
It's a good thing, because mama has to do some
working from home.

Sue gave the baby those pants, so cute and soft.
What's for breakfast?

Homemade blueberry scones. YUMMY!
Light, tender, and flaky, they are a definite hit.

Can't have scones without clotted cream.
I open the jar the lovely La Yen sent me for my birthday.
She's not my godmother, because we're the same age (and also friends,) but she does send the nicest packages.

The girl has a flair for gifting!
Time to get ready for work.

I get in trouble because my hair dryer is too loud.

Lunch!
El Guille asks for a cheese sandwich.
Then he asks for "Sa-ya-mee" for his cheese sandwich.
A cheese sandwich with sayamee.

Time to drive to work!

Listening to General Petraeus testifying on the radio (math is hard.)

It's very important to know what's going on
in your world,
don't you think, fellow citizens?

I pull out my lunch (apple) from my purse and find
a pair of Bob the Builder underpants (clean) and
my latest awesome mix from awesome Kristen.

She not only makes great mixes,
but her CD packages and sleeves always have a theme and are hand-created.

Having a friend like that is the best.

Time for working-working.That software isn't going to design itself!

Have to stop by to see Shoes of the Day himself, DM!

Hey! You caught me workin'!

He's got a new little one at home.

DB stops by the desk, he's very tall.
He has the most adorable wife, Julie,
who keeps that mister on his toes!

J-Rock takes time out from being the sausage king to talk shop.
He and his beautiful wife had an argument when they first got married about a Kitchenaid stand mixer. He didn't see the point in paying that much moola for a kitchen appliance.

I think he sees the point now.

They own a condo in downtown Seattle and are raising a couple of city boys.
Wouldn't you like to be a city boy?

Happy Birthday from all of us, SC!

Enough about work.

Time to drive home.
I can't drive home fast enough to get to my babies.
I take the side streets to avoid the horrendous construction.

What's that?

A car with Wisconsin plates?

April? Kristen? Are you in town and didn't tell me?
Are you in town, uhm, driving a minivan?

Dinner is fast tonight:
Gyro Salad!
Lamb I ground myself (because the markets only had steaks) for Gyros last night
Crisp, fresh greens
The last of the juicy tomatoes
A little pita bread
Homemade Tzatziki sauce: cucumbers, yogurt, garlic, dill, lemon, salt
Delicious!

Other Half and I spend some time after El Guille has gone to bed talking about his day. He loves his new job. It's important to make time to talk when you're both so busy.

OH NO!



What's that?

Baby on the attack!

Watch OUT!
He's got me!

Can't...hold...on...much...longer...send...help...

Orange & Blue

I showed up to work on Wednesday with a cute outfit on: navy cotton pin-tucked skirt, a white tee and an orange sherbet sleeveless sweater (which, to be honest, is a vest, but “sleeveless sweater” sounds so much more chic.) I accessorized with a bright color bag and animal print flats.

At about eleven I received this piece of correspondence:

Tomorrow we will have a camera crew here…please wear either Cougar Blue or OrangeSoda colors since some of you will be put on the spot to answer the question “What is OrangeSoda.com”. Please brush your teeth in the morning and at a minimum wear deodorant (showers are ideal). Any questions can be directed to nobody because we all have questions and just wear Cougar blue or OrangeSoda colors tomorrow.

Shouldn’t all wardrobe requests be cleared a week in advance? 12 hours in a pinch? Some of us think long and hard about what we’re going to wear—we might even have a system! I don’t have a system (unless a system includes thinking of what I’m going to wear the next morning as a way of putting myself to sleep the night before.)

So there I was wearing the perfect Cougar Blue and OrangeSoda colors a day before they were needed. I marched right down to CF’s office and demanded the what-for! When no satisfactory explanation emerged (and no clear apology was offered, I might add) I may have threatened to wear the same thing on Thursday.

Ok, I did threaten to wear the same thing Thursday. Being a reasonable person, I also included the caveat that the clothes would be Febrezed before the re-don.

Guess what I wore Thursday?

Yeah, see, I don't mess around.

I did change my shoes, my bag, and fiddled with the accessories, those are the important things to switch up (well, the undies too.)

As I was setting up this picture I couldn’t help but think that this is exactly what InStyle Magazine does in its Simple Chic or whatever-the-crap-it-is section. Only instead of being reasonably priced items, the items below would be ridiculously expensive.

I had to bring in all the lovely accessories to complete the shoot. The orange, slightly sporty Nine West heels I bought in El Paso at the awesome mall ($799.) The bag with a pattern (see Stacey and Clinton, I’m listening!) that was gifted to me by my mother-in-law’s Dillard’s card ($3,400.) The necklace and earrings from SuperTarget ($4,800. Target is very exclusive.)

We can’t forget the Febreze ($500) since it would be embarrassing to show up to work in the same outfit two days in a row and have it smell less than chemically-masked clean. Booyah.

Who dares me to wear the same outfit Friday?