Sunday, January 13, 2008
I Can Haz Plus-Size Fashion?
It's 1am and I can't sleep. After skimming through my favorite blogs, I linked up to some of the 'I Can Has Cheezbuger' cats. After 12 pages or so, I started to realize that the only advertisements that were popping up were for plus-size boutiques. I am guessing this is someone taking a stab at the average obsessive cat owner...but after two glasses of wine and my sleeping pill kicking in, I can't really tell at this point. I did take a peek at Lane Bryant and Catherine's since I wasn't sure of the difference. Before too long, I realized that LB was the more fashionable of the two, just in case anyone was curious.
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Learning to Fake It
The new job is going very well and I'm pretty excited about my future with this firm. I am doing high-end, global concierge work, and since I am more of a mid-level gal, it means that I have to learn how to fake it.
The first week of training consisted of how to read menus of French restaurants, memorizing the details of the best restaurants in Manhattan, and an intro to the ins and outs of schmoozing with rich, successful, and important people. Before long, I'll be able to discuss wines and vacation villas and easily offer the five best alternatives when you aren't smooth enough to grab a table at Nobu or Buddakan. Luckily, I do have an up when it comes to club recommendations in Vegas [thanks Rachy!]. Also, before long I'll be buds with the Maitre D's at fancy places so I can impress my friends when I invite them along.
I am pretty excited because I think that familiarizing myself with some real world and marketable things will help me out in my freelance writing endeavours. And hell, if you're going to sell your stuff for money, it helps to sell it to the publications with wealthy subscribers.
And now, for my favorite-NY-restaurant-even-though-I-will-never-buy-a-$500-meal: 21 Club. Sure, I can most likely afford the 3-course option, but the 7 course in the basement sounds like a date!
The first week of training consisted of how to read menus of French restaurants, memorizing the details of the best restaurants in Manhattan, and an intro to the ins and outs of schmoozing with rich, successful, and important people. Before long, I'll be able to discuss wines and vacation villas and easily offer the five best alternatives when you aren't smooth enough to grab a table at Nobu or Buddakan. Luckily, I do have an up when it comes to club recommendations in Vegas [thanks Rachy!]. Also, before long I'll be buds with the Maitre D's at fancy places so I can impress my friends when I invite them along.
I am pretty excited because I think that familiarizing myself with some real world and marketable things will help me out in my freelance writing endeavours. And hell, if you're going to sell your stuff for money, it helps to sell it to the publications with wealthy subscribers.
And now, for my favorite-NY-restaurant-even-though-I-will-never-buy-a-$500-meal: 21 Club. Sure, I can most likely afford the 3-course option, but the 7 course in the basement sounds like a date!
Thursday, January 3, 2008
These Icicle Tears...
It's official. I took down the Christmas tree, hid all of the dinosaur ornaments, and managed to wiggle the roommate's puppy out of his Christmas-sausage costume. The holidays are over and I am probably a little too sad about it. I do have some presents coming in the mail still, so I suppose that's a small something to look forward to. I think more than anything, I will miss the exciting lighting options afforded by Christmas decorations.
December was eventful. I was given a teaser job in accounting at my temp agency. They took that away and I only needed two weeks to shake the feeling of being dumped. It ended up being not so terrible because they managed to find me a real job at a real company where I can show up for as long as I like, complete with benefits and paid vacation and several other grown-up essentials. Starting Monday, I will work down the street from the Fed, so I am sure that I will skip out of work early sometime and take the basement tour where they show you the duffel bags full of quarters. When the weather gets warm, I can sit by the water during my lunch and watch the boats float by.
My family cancelled Christmas, so I was able to choose my own adventure for the week. I picked the warm weather, amazing Tex-Mex, and much needed couple-time options all provided down in Texas. Sigh. Four super days of Austin just made Boston seem that much colder and depressing. Oh yeah, winter in New England really sucks.
So now I'm sitting in a living room no longer littered with glitter and stockings. It's the coldest day of winter and the sun went down sometime after 4pm. I'm in 13 layers of warm clothing and my fingers are still a little numb. I think the poem from Amanda's mom sums it up best:
WINTER
a poem by Abigail Elizabeth McIntyre
Fuck!
It's cold!
December was eventful. I was given a teaser job in accounting at my temp agency. They took that away and I only needed two weeks to shake the feeling of being dumped. It ended up being not so terrible because they managed to find me a real job at a real company where I can show up for as long as I like, complete with benefits and paid vacation and several other grown-up essentials. Starting Monday, I will work down the street from the Fed, so I am sure that I will skip out of work early sometime and take the basement tour where they show you the duffel bags full of quarters. When the weather gets warm, I can sit by the water during my lunch and watch the boats float by.
My family cancelled Christmas, so I was able to choose my own adventure for the week. I picked the warm weather, amazing Tex-Mex, and much needed couple-time options all provided down in Texas. Sigh. Four super days of Austin just made Boston seem that much colder and depressing. Oh yeah, winter in New England really sucks.
So now I'm sitting in a living room no longer littered with glitter and stockings. It's the coldest day of winter and the sun went down sometime after 4pm. I'm in 13 layers of warm clothing and my fingers are still a little numb. I think the poem from Amanda's mom sums it up best:
WINTER
a poem by Abigail Elizabeth McIntyre
Fuck!
It's cold!
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Just what the world needs: another lawyer.
Law School always seemed like the correct step for me after college. I can't remember exactly how I reached that conclusion, but it probably had something to do with my high school debate coach as well as my extended family. I took all of the Gov and Econ courses that sounded like decent prep for my future, and I even gave Princeton Review and Kaplan about $1.5k over the past 6 months.
I got the score back, spent a few days flipping through the few catalogues, and put the final touches on my personal statement. As I was filling out my few apps, I realized several glitches in my plan.
On Law School:
1) I am not very studious. I rarely did my reading in college. I always liked the dirty essays for my Politics and Sexuality course (40 something bear prof seducing his twink student). I also didn't mind the Russian Lit or Religion reading. I disliked the Political and Legal theory, and I think that might pose a major problem in LS.
2) I don't like the average law student. I know these people. I debated through high school and a bit in college. I took almost every American Gov class at Smith and spending three long years with that student didn't really interest me. That girl who thinks everything is racist or sexist or that boy who drops postmodern philosopher names in every observation (he likes to observe things out loud). When it comes down to it, these people were the ones who pushed me from the Gov department to the Econ department by sophomore year.
3) By now I'm starting to seriously second guess the law school thing. Law school is expensive. If I have some breakdown by year two, I'm stuck with one very large bill.
On Lawyering:
1) I am not very studious. 80 hour work weeks? Really? I know that it is possible to work more reasonable hours, but I know that my competitive side would kick in and I'd want to be a good little lawyer and work all the time. I promise that I am not a lazy person, it's just that lawyer work doesn't seem to be that engaging and I get bored far too easily.
2) Lawyering is boring. The temping gig allowed me to work at several Boston firms, and it doesn't seem like a way I'd like to spend all of my hours. Phone tag with clients, phone tag with other lawyers, phone tag with people within your firm. Faxes, affidavits, yelling at your legal assistants. Gross. If I'm going to skip naps and time with myself doing what I want with whomever I want, I'd rather skip it for something more enjoyable than drafting the 3rd letter to some little old lady that has trouble with her slumlord. I know that there are different types of law to go into and that not all firms are the same, but as Leila reaffirmed, all the fun ones are just as busy and have even smaller pay.
3) I don't like lawyers. I know these people. I've met them. I've met the future generation of them. I don't really care to spend the rest of my life working with these people. I like myself much more than those people.
So now what?
It's hard to tell, really. I want to work for myself with something I can really love. I want to feel productive and fulfilled. I want my labor to be for my bank, not for another's bank where I'm promised a cut. I suppose everyone wants that kind of set-up, but the kicker is how to land that gig.
I'm looking into a few Professional Writing MA programs. I imagine the MFA kids are the kinds that kept me away from the English classes at Smith. You know, the girls that wear capes to class and come back from a semester in London with an English accent. Reading poetry in the quad with a bunch of emo-hippies is hardly my dream. And as far as technical writing is concerned, I'd rather go to law school.
Sure, one can break into the freelance life without any sort of degree, but I'm not one of those people. I need a paid mentor with some letters behind his name to tell me that I'm worthy and able. I want to try my hand at several different things under the supervision of professionals. If you're reading this blog, you can see that I still have a lot of learnin' to do before I can convince people to hire me. I want the bank to pay my rent and put gas in my car while I fail inside of the classroom in front of other amateurs. I might be spectacular at greeting cards and terrible at magazine writing. These are all things I would prefer to figure out sooner than later, so I decided that a graduate program would be a decent place to start.
Wait until the end of the Spring, and I'll let everyone know where I'm headed. If anyone needs LSAT prep material, just email me!
I got the score back, spent a few days flipping through the few catalogues, and put the final touches on my personal statement. As I was filling out my few apps, I realized several glitches in my plan.
On Law School:
1) I am not very studious. I rarely did my reading in college. I always liked the dirty essays for my Politics and Sexuality course (40 something bear prof seducing his twink student). I also didn't mind the Russian Lit or Religion reading. I disliked the Political and Legal theory, and I think that might pose a major problem in LS.
2) I don't like the average law student. I know these people. I debated through high school and a bit in college. I took almost every American Gov class at Smith and spending three long years with that student didn't really interest me. That girl who thinks everything is racist or sexist or that boy who drops postmodern philosopher names in every observation (he likes to observe things out loud). When it comes down to it, these people were the ones who pushed me from the Gov department to the Econ department by sophomore year.
3) By now I'm starting to seriously second guess the law school thing. Law school is expensive. If I have some breakdown by year two, I'm stuck with one very large bill.
On Lawyering:
1) I am not very studious. 80 hour work weeks? Really? I know that it is possible to work more reasonable hours, but I know that my competitive side would kick in and I'd want to be a good little lawyer and work all the time. I promise that I am not a lazy person, it's just that lawyer work doesn't seem to be that engaging and I get bored far too easily.
2) Lawyering is boring. The temping gig allowed me to work at several Boston firms, and it doesn't seem like a way I'd like to spend all of my hours. Phone tag with clients, phone tag with other lawyers, phone tag with people within your firm. Faxes, affidavits, yelling at your legal assistants. Gross. If I'm going to skip naps and time with myself doing what I want with whomever I want, I'd rather skip it for something more enjoyable than drafting the 3rd letter to some little old lady that has trouble with her slumlord. I know that there are different types of law to go into and that not all firms are the same, but as Leila reaffirmed, all the fun ones are just as busy and have even smaller pay.
3) I don't like lawyers. I know these people. I've met them. I've met the future generation of them. I don't really care to spend the rest of my life working with these people. I like myself much more than those people.
So now what?
It's hard to tell, really. I want to work for myself with something I can really love. I want to feel productive and fulfilled. I want my labor to be for my bank, not for another's bank where I'm promised a cut. I suppose everyone wants that kind of set-up, but the kicker is how to land that gig.
I'm looking into a few Professional Writing MA programs. I imagine the MFA kids are the kinds that kept me away from the English classes at Smith. You know, the girls that wear capes to class and come back from a semester in London with an English accent. Reading poetry in the quad with a bunch of emo-hippies is hardly my dream. And as far as technical writing is concerned, I'd rather go to law school.
Sure, one can break into the freelance life without any sort of degree, but I'm not one of those people. I need a paid mentor with some letters behind his name to tell me that I'm worthy and able. I want to try my hand at several different things under the supervision of professionals. If you're reading this blog, you can see that I still have a lot of learnin' to do before I can convince people to hire me. I want the bank to pay my rent and put gas in my car while I fail inside of the classroom in front of other amateurs. I might be spectacular at greeting cards and terrible at magazine writing. These are all things I would prefer to figure out sooner than later, so I decided that a graduate program would be a decent place to start.
Wait until the end of the Spring, and I'll let everyone know where I'm headed. If anyone needs LSAT prep material, just email me!
What else did you expect?
Once upon a time I kept a blog that I willingly shared with friends and accidentally shared with family. After rambling on far too long about canned meats, sex, and a really pitiful professor crush, I decided to lay that blog to rest. Since then, I have started a few more public blogs, but I either forget the password or accidentally delete it all.
So here goes. In the spirit of Trickle-Down laws, this (soon to be) amazing blog to be tempered through the fires of time and failed start-up attempts.
So here goes. In the spirit of Trickle-Down laws, this (soon to be) amazing blog to be tempered through the fires of time and failed start-up attempts.
Is our children learning?
No. Not at all. Not one bit.
Upon moving to Boston, the thought of another endless job search overwhelmed me. When I heard that a staffing group could get me a job in a few hours, I quickly applied with several and before the end of the day I was securely employed for both a nine-to-five and a weekend gig. It wasn't long before I realized that companies make temps put up with the shit that regular employees would never tolerate: ninety hours worth of data entry or twelve hours of being locked in a room with nothing but a dictaphone and a typewriter.
On Monday I was placed at *Simmons College where I have been inputting all the information from prospectives into a very antiquated computer. Their endowment must not be that impressive, because half of the time I have to crouch down at the keyboard with only a footstool to sit on. My seven hour hell each day allows Simmons to send a few hundred lucky girls a sports bag with their applications, but I can't complain because once every few hours they let me stretch out my legs while I file folders for the 5,000 applicants. The task of filing became much more exciting after I worked up the nerve to peek into the folders before putting them away on the wall of shelves.
First there are the unfortunate last names: McLeany, Hinnie, Hineski, Ojbakmalishmar, Vagimal. Then there are the unfortunate first names: Shawnee, Rondee, Franka, Redue. Next come the planned majors: weather, x-ray technology, animals, hair and nails. The planned majors baffle me for two reasons. Obviously, it's silly to imagine an ambitious yet under-accomplished high school girl planning to attend a competitive, private insitution for a vocational degree at the low cost of $18,000 per semester. But what is a bit more disturbing is how boring most of the choices are. Sure, radiologists make a lot of money, but planning to spend 40 years reading pictures of people's insides is pretty dull.
I still can't figure out if it's depressing or uplifting that people apply to a school that is so very far out of their reach. Yesterday I overheard a debate over if it was acceptable to return a girl's application check when her SAT score is in the triple digits. On the one hand, she has absolutely no chance whatsoever of being accepted and therefore it won't cost anything to process her application since it's going to be marked with a giant X. On the other hand, the school can't even afford real office chairs, so they shouldn't be terribly picky about such a gift.
Today I started to glance at the email coorespondence at the top of the files. "Hi, Iam rachel Simon and I mailed you my stuff last week. Can yuo please check it? Let me kow, thanks." Sigh.
*Apparently there's another decently ranked women's college in the Boston area other than Wellesley. Sadly enough, I never realized that Simmons was a women's college. On a more pitiful note, it took me over 4 hours of inputting dozens of girls' names and walking around the campus center to realize that Simmons doesn't allow boys.
Upon moving to Boston, the thought of another endless job search overwhelmed me. When I heard that a staffing group could get me a job in a few hours, I quickly applied with several and before the end of the day I was securely employed for both a nine-to-five and a weekend gig. It wasn't long before I realized that companies make temps put up with the shit that regular employees would never tolerate: ninety hours worth of data entry or twelve hours of being locked in a room with nothing but a dictaphone and a typewriter.
On Monday I was placed at *Simmons College where I have been inputting all the information from prospectives into a very antiquated computer. Their endowment must not be that impressive, because half of the time I have to crouch down at the keyboard with only a footstool to sit on. My seven hour hell each day allows Simmons to send a few hundred lucky girls a sports bag with their applications, but I can't complain because once every few hours they let me stretch out my legs while I file folders for the 5,000 applicants. The task of filing became much more exciting after I worked up the nerve to peek into the folders before putting them away on the wall of shelves.
First there are the unfortunate last names: McLeany, Hinnie, Hineski, Ojbakmalishmar, Vagimal. Then there are the unfortunate first names: Shawnee, Rondee, Franka, Redue. Next come the planned majors: weather, x-ray technology, animals, hair and nails. The planned majors baffle me for two reasons. Obviously, it's silly to imagine an ambitious yet under-accomplished high school girl planning to attend a competitive, private insitution for a vocational degree at the low cost of $18,000 per semester. But what is a bit more disturbing is how boring most of the choices are. Sure, radiologists make a lot of money, but planning to spend 40 years reading pictures of people's insides is pretty dull.
I still can't figure out if it's depressing or uplifting that people apply to a school that is so very far out of their reach. Yesterday I overheard a debate over if it was acceptable to return a girl's application check when her SAT score is in the triple digits. On the one hand, she has absolutely no chance whatsoever of being accepted and therefore it won't cost anything to process her application since it's going to be marked with a giant X. On the other hand, the school can't even afford real office chairs, so they shouldn't be terribly picky about such a gift.
Today I started to glance at the email coorespondence at the top of the files. "Hi, Iam rachel Simon and I mailed you my stuff last week. Can yuo please check it? Let me kow, thanks." Sigh.
*Apparently there's another decently ranked women's college in the Boston area other than Wellesley. Sadly enough, I never realized that Simmons was a women's college. On a more pitiful note, it took me over 4 hours of inputting dozens of girls' names and walking around the campus center to realize that Simmons doesn't allow boys.
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