Fake Working

If I have to do one more hour of fake working I am going to lose my mind. Most days I pray for a moment of respite, when my phone isn't ringing or the client isn't freaking out over some non-existant crisis .

However, after nearly 8-hours of fake working, 8 hours of cleaning my desk, 8 hours of cleaning out my in-box, 8 hours of incessantly reading Gawker, Gothamist, Curbed and all accompanying links from my blog for something.... anything.... to stave off the boredom.

I can't believe it is only Thursday. I have to work tomorrow as well. I am going to shoot myself.

Adding Pounds

After reading this WWD article about editors adding pounds to waifish models, I realize this isn’t the first I’ve heard about this.

One of my girlfriends works at Playboy, as we were discussing the aging Dan/Jan (?) covergirl Pamela Anderson; she mentioned that the original, un-touched photos were anything but sexy. The Playboy photo team, who usually shaves away unwanted inches from their cover models, actually had to ADD weight to Pamela Anderson. In one particular photo they had to add a rib, since her stomach was so concave it nearly touched her spine. (If you’ve seen the issue, I’m referring to the first 2-page spread photo, side shot of Pamela on all fours.)

Another friend, whose office handles photo retouching for major advertising campaigns, often tells me about how they erase shoulder blades from side-posed models.

Can’t believe anything you see or read…

My Blog Makes Me Smarter

Sometimes I reread my posts and I see right through myself. Last week, I wrote this. After disappointing behavior by The Producer on Saturday evening at my friend's birthday party, I spent a hungover morning in bed with the book that nearly every girl has read, but refuses to admit to. Let's reevaluate the problems with last week's post...

Problem #1: …eyeing the Producer and me ask, "So are you two together?"… he would make a crack about us between the sheets.

Problem #2: Despite the fact that she said these words very loudly and very clearly - neither he nor I acknowledged them...

Problem #3: … settled into a very comfortable groove

What’s in a word? A lot. Trust, commitment and expectations to name a few. Between my posts and the book, I had a moment of clarity. I placed the call at 1PM on Sunday, “Are you free to meet for coffee?” (In the world of relationships, this phrase translates to -- we are going to break up, prepare yourself -- cause no couple ever legitimately meets for coffee.)

We met. We talked. I walked.

He emailed this morning, I responded: “Clarity is refreshing.” Then I deleted each and every email he's sent in the past six months and put an automatic delete on his address.

Drunk Depositing

Thursday before the holiday party, my office distributed our annual bonuses. In the world of PR where a bonus is not guaranteed, any type of holiday bonus is something to be thankful for.

I was quite happy with my bonus and put the check in my purse before heading to the office holiday party. I woke up Friday morning, in a post-holiday party world of hurt, which got even worse after I opened my purse to find the bonus check missing.

Now if I had been in the right frame I mind, I would have retraced my steps. But my steps were fuzzy. I wasn't quite sure how I ended up at Bar13 on gay night... Since I hadly had the energy to breathe, let alone deal with the crushing consequences of having lost my bonus, I put it out of sight for the moment.


Mid-afternoon once my head stopped throbing and I began to feel a bit more grounded, I began to wonder about my holiday bonus... How in the world could have I misplaced it? How long before I have to sheepishly bring up the topic to my payroll department? How easily can someone cash a check if someone else's name is on it?


In my haze, I made one logical decision - I logged on to view my online bank statement. Hells bells, there it was! At 11PM, I had deposited the check at the Bank of America near Madison Sqaure Park. Aside from the fact that I don't recall being anywhere near Madison Sqaure Park, I accept it...

How did I reward myself for my incredibly responsible behavior? I bought two new pair of peep-toe, platform heels and put the rest to my VISA bill.

My apology

Dear God:

I apologize. I apologize for all my poor choices, like that fourth ice luge shot at the holiday party last night. I'm very very sorry. Please just stop the world from spinning, and perhaps turn down the brightness of the sun. If you do, I will never, ever, ever drink again. I will start going to church. This Sunday, I promise. Just please, dull the pain, stop the hurt, end the agony.

Signed,
The Reformed

What's in a word...

Saturday night, I begged Avenue Elle to come to a house party in Queens. Reason #1: As a single gal, Avenue Elle, should accept all party invitations on the off chance that she meet the man of her dreams. Reason #2: I needed a wing-gal on the off chance that The Producer became side-tracked with his friends.

I promised Elle lots of good looking men, and I delivered. Sadly, these men were more interested in The Producer than either of us. The Producer always tells me that gay men love him. I had assumed this was his ego talking, however on Saturday night I was witness to it.

All night long, men would approach the three of us and chat us up. Then eyeing the Producer and me ask, "So are you two together?" I would say something like, "we hang out" and he would make a crack about us between the sheets. Then our new party friend would disappear...

As we left the party, Elle teased The Producer about all the broken hearts he left at the party. Then she brought up the unspoken words, "Would you two just get over it! Call him your boyfriend. She's your girlfriend. It so obvious to everyone!" Despite the fact that she said these words very loudly and very clearly - neither he nor I acknowledged them, not that night on the subway platform, not that night at his place, not the next morning...

After and I overcame a series of hiccups (Case #1, Case #2, Case #3, Case #4) we have settled into a very comfortable groove. Calls, emails, mid-week sleep overs, weekend sleep overs, dinners, movies, bottles of wine, invitations to "meet my friends", weekends out of town... It is all quite regular.

Now who is bogarting the adult relationship rule book? At what point are you use that "all-accompanying" relationship word -- boyfriend/girlfriend? This isn't Jr. High, he isn't going to ask me at the dance on Friday if I'll be his girlfriend... One thing is certain, I am not going to use the word first.

Shopper's Delight

One of my favorite stores on Orchard Street, La Di Da, is closing. I received notice of the storewide 50% yesterday afternoon and headed there straight after work. After putting down my VISA, I’m now the very happy owner of $700 worth of merchandise

- Alice & Olivia jeans ($52, marked down from $170). I have lusted after a pair of Alice and Olivia pants since first reading about how they compliment your figure. I can now attest – it is true! I’m in love. I may never change out of these pants.
- Sheri Rose black halter dress ($110, marked down from $220)
- Rapp and Posavek Ainsley purse ($175, marked down from $385). Unnecessary, but so pretty and soft. Since I’m not getting any Christmas presents. I justify this purchase as a holiday gift to myself.

It makes me incredibly sad to see an independent boutique closing. Once I finish working for “the man” in NYC, I hope to move to a smaller city or a college town, where I can open my own boutique. College towns are a gold mine for this type of store -- mom and dad’s money flows freely, colleges are shoving credit cards at their students, and the endless social engagements (each requiring a new outfit). In the day and age of malls, there is a genuine gap in unique, stylish clothes... I could do this. I could bring style to the masses of Banana Republic, Gap wearing women.

I am beginning to develope a philosophy for what makes a successful store.

PRICES: The store can offer expensive wares, however there needs to be something that is reasonable. This should be something that anyone who walks into your store can afford to purchase. It’s psychological, once you start spending money; you are more inclined to tack on a second purchase. And this affordable item’s “value” is inflated for being sold in your boutique. (Case and point: The blue Tiffany box with the $60 keychain inside. That will be the best key chain ever.)

SIZES: Boutique clothing tends to be very true to size. This I accept. As a size 6, I am a medium, where at a national chain like Banana Republic, I’m a size 4, small. When placing orders for clothing keep this in mind. Order up, or accept that you'll be selling 1/2 of your merchandise on the sale rack to the 6 women in town who fit in a size 2.

PERSONALITY: Perhaps this is the marketing side of me, but the story needs to have personality and presence. It isn't enough to just sell clothes, you need to make the store part of something. Host in-store events, feature local designers, annual back-to-school runway shows... whatever, just do something, anything to give your store personality...

Perhaps in 4 years when I tire of the city's rat race, I'll actually get around to making this a reality.

Brunette vs. Blonde

One of my blonde gal friends is toying with the idea of dying her hair brunette for a change. As I (a brunette) was discussing this with another blonde friend, we ended up in the timeless debate of hair color and attractiveness.

Blondie was convinced that, "Men give more attention to blondes. On the sidewalk, we catch their attention first and they always do a double take."

As a brunette, I refuse to believe that a random man's double take necessarily had anything to do with hair color. I believe that type of attention is based more on our physical body type, attire, or the contrast between your hair color and eye. It seems blondes limit themselves, thinking only of their hair color as the thing worth noticing. After all blonde hair is expensive to up-keep. (As someone who used to have blondish-hair, I can attest to this.)

Here a brunette friend tells of crossing over to the blonde side, and then crossing right back. I am not alone in thinking brunettes are actually having all the fun - and quite possibly getting more respect. (Insert your favorite 'dumb blonde' joke here.)

My New Year's Eve Pledge

I will not:
... spend too much on a glittery explosion of an outfit that is only acceptable on New Year’s Eve
... make a formal commitment to plans until after Christmas Day (house party invitations trump all)
... obsess about who I am going to (or not going to) kiss at midnight
... try to hail a cab at 11PM
... get so carried away pre-partying that I fall and bruise my cocyx
... forget that I can't drink shots without throwing up the next day
... go above 14th Street
... make a New Year's resolution

I will:
... avoid the "open bar" scene
... surround myself with those friends who chose to stay in NYC this year
... call as many people as possible at midnight
... remember to bring my digital camera
... upload my photos to my computer before February 2007