Tag I'm It

The lovely and talented Mrs. Ryn Gumpert tagged me: http://ryn-blog.blogspot.com/.

The rules:
1. Link to the person that tagged you
2. Post the rules on your blog
3. Share six non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself
4. Tag six random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs
5. Let each random person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their website.
6. Let your tagger know when your entry is up.

1) When I like a song, I REALLY like a song. I will play it over and over again until my ears bleed and my friends want to scream. My latest obsession is T.I's, Dead and Gone featuring Justin Timberlake: http://hypem.com/artist/t+i++ft++justin+timberlake. No doubt I will be over it in a days time.

2) I am an avid self tanner applier. Every morning around 7:00AM I slather up to maintain this lovely glow. I actually quite hate the routine but if I didn't do anything I would more than likely look scarily translucent. Not only would I never get a date but people might mistake me for a ghost...and that's not good around Christmas time.

3) I am not a fan of large crowds; more specifically, large drunk crowds. Halloween in SF? I cringe. New Years? My ass hurts just thinking about all the drunk slappings I'll get out at some nasty club. I try to avoid at all costs but for some reason I'm always convinced by friends to make it out. It's rare that I'm grateful.

4) You don't want to know me in the morning if I haven't had my coffee. It's my crack, I love it, and no amount of caffeine induced anxiety could ever get me to stop. I could be poor and shuffling in the streets, panhandling for money JUST to get my cup of coffee in the morning.

5) I HATE it when people say, "take care," as they're leaving. I loathe it! You might as well just tell me to fuck off and have a nice life because it essentially means the same thing in my eyes.

6) I'm going to end on a positive note. I am a hopeless romantic. Despite all of the "rock bottoms" I've hit when it comes to my love life, I still believe that my knight in shining armor is out there. Call me a nut but hey, whatever gets me through the day, right?


Kate from: Pretty Damn Fabulous

Marta from: Mindless Chatter

Meredith from : Words of a Blond Jewess

Narcissist in Training

In a world where reality television, social networking sites and blogging are shoved down our throats on a daily basis, I can’t help but ask the question: When did we become so narcissistic? We’re all entitled to be consumed with our daily lives; after all, how would anything get done? But when people find it necessary to “Twitter” their every move, “I’m eating a beef burrito with cheese,” or, “I just watched Four Christmases and it sucked ass,” which btw, it did; isn’t that crossing some sort of egotistical line? What’s next? Will people go as far as to resort to documenting their bowel movements? At least that would make me laugh. “Just took massive dump. Felt great.”

The bottom line is that most of us would love for others to believe that our lives are as exciting as we think they are, but let’s be honest, most of us don’t give two shits about whether you made it to Safeway yesterday. I know I don’t. I'm not even that interested in myself! How can I criticize, though, when I’ve jumped on the blogging bandwagon as well? I may not blog about my day-to-day life but I’m certainly under the impression that others might care about certain life events, epiphanies, or profound thoughts that occur. I may be totally off there and that’s why as a writer, I would love some feedback as to what you all want to hear. Let’s here it…I want the goods.

Wake Up Call

I live a pretty sheltered life. I take the bus to work in the Financial District every morning. I sit at my cushy desk on the 23 floor of my office surrounded by great views. I take the bus home and make the short walk to my cozy apartment in Cow Hollow. Repeat these routines most days out of the year and anyone would note that I don’t live a particularly risky or dangerous lifestyle. This is good news because it means my chances of being mugged by a cracked out tranny on Muni are slim (should I knock on wood?). On the other hand, it is that kind of mentality that provides a false sense of security and can often be detrimental.

There has been many times where I have been scolded by friends and family for leaving my purse around open and unattended. For example, I’ll be reaching for the turkey meat balls at Trader Joe’s half an isle away from my cart, thinking about what a pain in the ass carrying all these groceries up my stairs will be; Meanwhile, my beautiful Marc Jacobs bag sits in my cart with little to no supervision. It’s practically begging for every hoodlum and thug to walk by and snag it. I however, tell myself that it could never happen to me. I am the exception not the rule.

A couple weekends back I traveled to Palm Springs with my company for our firm wide retreat. The whole weekend was a complete blur of eating, drinking and socializing (is it possible to gain 20 lbs in 4 days?). I could write several blogs in regards to what a shit show I was (e.g. falling, like, at least 5 times and having to call the resort’s front desk for first aid). There was, however, one event in particular worth mentioning.

Sunday night was the grand finale of our stay. Close to five-hundred of us gathered on the golf course for a catered meal, live music and fireworks. I was having a grand old time trying to power through my hangover with Chardonnay; I was letting my hair down, dancing to the band with coworkers and generally having a kick ass time. Cut to my assigned table where a lovely gold clutch was laying unattended. Now, cut to a strange man impersonating a Cornerstone employee walking by and not so slyly swiping the gold clutch from said table. Finally, end with a crazy lady freaking out, frantically searching and screaming at everyone, asking where her gold purse was.

I am embarrassed to admit that the crazy lady in that blurb…was me (cue melodramatic music now). Joking aside, it was one of the scarier moments I’ve had in a while. The contents of my purse were rather important and included: my cell phone, camera, license and ATM card. Why I brought all of these things to a work related dinner is beyond me but what bothered me the most was the idea of not having my cell phone for a few days. What do you MEAN I won't be able to talk to people whenever I want? What if somebody is trying to get a hold of me AS I SPEAK and I can’t respond because this asshole ripped me off?? Fuck the other shit…WHAT AM I GOING TO DO WITHOUT MY PHONE?? I had visions of myself a week later, friendless and lonely as a result of no contact.

My boss stops me in mid thought and tells me that he saw a man go in to the bathroom with a gold purse under his jacket. As he’s telling me this the unidentified man walks by and my boss grabs him by the shirt. Everything happened so quickly but the next thing I remember is me wildly throwing my fists in his direction and screaming, “Give me my shit back, Mother Fucker!!” After several minutes of me hurling insults at him, security finally got with the program and came to help. All of my stuff with the exception of some lip gloss was recovered, thank God. I breathed a sigh of relief as my cell phone materialized from his pocket. Nobody had called.

The Good Life

There’s nothing like a bad date to get you in to the Halloween spirit. Okay, that made no sense. I just wanted to give a shout out that it’s Halloween while not so discreetly letting you in on my evening last night. How about this: There’s nothing like a bad date to make you feel like you may lose your mind if you meet one more fucktard. Yes, I did just use the word “fucktard.” It’s short for fucking retard. When you shorten it, it sounds a tad more on the PC side, no? I digress…

I met Guy through Match.com. We exchanged a few emails and texts and then decided to meet at the restaurant “Street” on Polk. As far as appearance goes, I wasn’t disappointed. He was clean, cute and had good style. What else can I add on the positive side before I launch an all out assault on his character? He smelled good…there, now to the juicy stuff.

I noticed right away that Guy had a problem standing still and focusing in on topics of conversation (which by the way, were mostly about him). It was like somebody had pointed a remote with no stop button at him and pushed fast forward! He talked about anything and everything most of which I zoned out for. There were however, a few topics my sagging ears perked up for. One of which was about what he was looking for in a woman. It’s complicated, you see, because he has a, “dual personality.” One side of him is erudite and deep and the other side goes, “balls to the wall,” partying with Burners in the underground scene until the wee hours of the morning. It will take a special kind of woman that can keep up so to speak (wink, wink).

No sooner had I processed his creepy wink and the words burner and underground, he was already on to the topic of Adderall and ADHD. Which btw, he doesn’t believe is a REAL medical condition; he says this as he shifts positions 20 times in the span of 5 seconds. Apparently he takes Adderall every once in a while just for the heck of it. I asked him if that was how he was capable of staying up all night with his fellow Burners. He chuckled, looked to the side and smirked. “Not exactly…we use Ecstasy. I hate calling it that because that’s its ‘street’ name.” My brain has officially flat lined at this point and I’m staring at him with a blank face that could rival, “Girl Interrupted.” What the hell do you say to that? “Huh, you don’t say.”

The entire time he was flapping his gums my mind wandered to everything from my grocery list and how I needed gas in my car to how I wished the person sitting in front of me was Ryan Reynolds. I caught another line in their about his BMW and how, “…he loves living the good life.” I feigned interest and tried to look impressed with the idea of riding around in his fancy car when really I could give two shits. Ya know, I like to live the good life too, Guy, but MY good life does not include all night drug binges, partying until oblivion or you.

Today's Special: Salmon...ella

I was poisoned last week. The sad and most frustrating part is that I’m not sure how, when or by whom. It wasn’t malicious in intent; nobody has to bust out with their Sherlock Holmes detective gear but in cases such as this I do wish that justice could be served. It should be prepared, cooked and served to them exactly how it was to me: undercooked and with unwashed hands.

I knew little about Salmonella Poisoning prior to this weekend but by Sunday afternoon I was all too familiar with the havoc that it reaps on intestinal tracts. I was sitting on my couch, eating frozen yogurt and enjoying my afternoon when all of the sudden I was hit with the most horrendous stomach cramps I have ever experienced in my 27 years of life. No joke, it felt like a pack of tigers were scooping out my guts with their claws. It was truly awful and for me to describe it so severely says a lot considering I have more stomach issues than Paris Hilton does STD’s.

For the sake of sparing you all from a loss of appetite, I will withhold the details but let’s just say that my symptoms definitely warranted a trip to the ER, which I took. They rushed me back and hooked me up to an IV, drew some blood and started pumping drugs and water in to my veins.

They told me I had Salmonella Poisoning after all the tests had come back. I was relieved considering the prognosis could have been a lot worse but I was confused as well. Where did I get it? When? What causes it? The Dr. explained that it was probably caused by negligent food handling at a restaurant I had dined out at. That could mean a number of things which include: serving products that have gone bad, undercooked food and or an employee not washing his hands properly. I immediately had visions of a line cook taking a dump shortly before preparing my meal, conveniently “forgetting” to wash his hands afterwards.

I left the hospital around 2am after a very trying evening of sleeping and rushing to the bathroom. By the time I got home I was so happy to be in my own bed I almost cried. I’m relieved to say that I’m on the mend now after a couple days worth of antibiotics but am definitely not at my best.

I haven’t had what most would consider the best couple of weeks; I had a devastating weekend prior as well. So, I’m really trying to see the bright side of all of this. Some positive things about being sick: losing those 5 lbs that I’ve gained the last month, witnessing the love and support from family and friends, and a couple days off work to watch day time television (What a treat! God I love Oprah). That’s all I’ve come up with so far…can YOU think of anything else?? I need all the help I can get right now.

Model Behavior

I have entered an entirely new realm of douchbaggery this past month that has rendered me speechless. Well, not too speechless considering I feel the need to exploit my experience…but you know what I mean. Folks, I was dating a model. I know, I know, insert a quartet of the world’s smallest violins here. How can I expect to receive cries of outrage and empathy when I start out with a statement like that! I assure you; this was no stroll down the catwalk.

He is phenomenal looking. There is no denying that he is a fantastically gorgeous specimen. Sometimes I would find myself gawking with absolutely no self awareness at all until I realized he was talking to me and I would have to pretend like I understood what he had been discussing for the last 10 minutes. “Uh huh, yes…go Giants…I mean…look at those biceps…I mean.... SHIT!”

Yah, that’s fun and all but when it comes down to it, I’ve realized that with looks that tremendous comes serious setbacks. There is something to be said about having experienced some rejection in life. It develops character, builds strength and depth and allows individuals to gain perspective on what really matters. Don’t get me wrong, it completely sucks but I definitely wouldn’t be where I am today without a little adversity. I am led to believe that this man has experienced very little in this department.

Ken (witholding real name) has a unique sense of humor. When I say unique I really just mean bad. He would say things that to most would be considered blatantly rude but to him it was just that nobody “got” him. Which I suppose could be the case. However, statements about threesomes with my hot friends and the call for extermination of cats across the world are not funny in any circumstance. The absurdity does not stop here.

The other day we were hanging out at my place; he had a spoon in my Chubby Hubby ice cream, complaining about how much fat and calories were in every bite. “This is SO bad for you. I have to stop eating this. You eat a lot of junk food don’t you?” To which I responded with, “Stop being a fucking girl and eat the god damn ice cream!” He was not amused and I was ready to snap; I had visions of me snatching the ice cream out of his hands and punting it out the window to put him out of his misery.

A few minutes later he asked me if I wanted to watch a movie. I suggested my favorite TV show, Two and a Half Men, which was going to be on in a few minutes. “I DO NOT watch TV,” he responded. “Umm, okay…it’s only for a half hour and it’s one of my favorites, can you manage to get through it? We can put the movie on afterwards,” I said, slightly exasperated. “No, I don’t watch TV and I never will. Do you want to do this another night?” At this point I’m making stabbing motions at his back while gritting my teeth, “FINE! A. Movie. It. Is.”

We pick out Good Will Hunting, which he seems to be satisfied with and plops down on the couch while I get the movie going. As I’m doing this a completely rancid smell wafts from the couch, over the coffee table, to inhabit my nostrils. It was as if a decaying wildebeest covered in dead skunks had found its way in to my living room and set up camp. Farting and letting the person know ahead of time is one thing, we girls can get over it, even laugh at it if you will. But to let something of that magnitude fly out of your ass with absolutely no warning or regard to the individual it is inflicting is flat out negligent. I got up and left the room, opened a few windows and pretended that my gag reflex was from a swallowed piece of chewing gum. You could have cut that fart with a butter knife the smell was so thick.

How does one carry on normally after they’ve encountered something so appalling? The fart incident aside, after everything he had said and done, I wanted him on a high speed train to the moon. How can somebody so beautiful be so fucking ugly?? Unfortunately I did not have the gumption to ask him to leave so I endured my final evening with him in silence; a gas mask not far out of reach.

Happy Place

For a time in college I suffered from depression; I want to say a good year to year and a half. I remember it to be one of the more uncomfortable and heart wrenching periods of my life that involved a lot of sleeping, crying and phone calls to my mother about how unfair life was. It’s particularly interesting that now, 5-6 years later, I look back at that time with a fondness that can’t be explained. I was so young and vulnerable (even though I didn’t feel it at the time…I was old damnit!); my older, more mature and slightly wiser self wishes to reach back and hug that person that was so desperately in need of counsel.

I eventually got over it through perseverance, a new positive outlook on life and copious amounts of mood enhancing drugs. Ah yes…with one daily pop of a pill my entire paradigm on life morphed in to a slightly disturbing enthusiastic one. I went from a, “fuck this shit, leave me alone you assholes,” attitude to a, “let’s skip rope and pick sunflowers,” mindset in about 2 days flat. I’d like to think that it was all that hard work I put in to myself; all that power of positive thinking and self love. However, I do wonder what would have happened had I not chosen to go down the slippery anti-depressant slope. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with taking drugs if you need them. They changed my life and for the better. I am of the mindset, though, that they should be used sparingly.

I admire people who can fend this demon off on their own. It takes a lot of strength and sorting out of issues. You’re forced to be completely honest with yourself about why you’re feeling the way you’re feeling and then must go forth and FACE IT; head butt those bastard issues in to submission. There’s nothing more uncomfortable.

Somebody who is very dear to my heart has recently confided in me that they are feeling depressed, which got me thinking about strategies and options. I wonder which the better route is. Clearly there are benefits to both: drugs, equals speedy recovery, equals happy person; no drugs equals self exploration, long term healing and eventual happy person. I suppose it depends on how depressed the individual is and of course, how comfortable they are with being in a Prozac induced haze.

I’d like to think that if I could go back and do it all over again that I would opt out of the drug route and really focus on getting to the root of the problem. I probably wouldn’t be the worrying mess that I am today! Then again, all my experiences and issues have made me who I am in this moment and regardless of what road this dear friend decides to take, all signs will point to the future.

Twitch

The day after I got back from Italy I started having muscle twitches. The first one started in my shoulder and felt like a spastic heart beat and the second was in my inner thigh, hammering away with similar intensity. A few days later it was full fledged throughout my entire body – my eye, nose, stomach, even toes! At first I wrote it off as fatigue and stress because of everything I had been through the previous weeks (e.g. travel to a foreign country and the diagnosis of CMT) but as it continued on, my curiosity and hypochondriac tendencies started to emerge.

I don’t know about any of you, but when something is wrong with me, I always look to the internet. Unfortunately, as much as the internet can be useful, it almost always leads to the downfall of my psychological well being. I have a headache…OMG it MUST be a brain tumor…no, LOOK, LOOK! It says right here on this site that headaches are a symptom of brain tumors! I have a weird bump-mole thing on my arm too…might as well look that up as well... It’s SKIN CANCER. I need to go to the ER and stop this thing in its tracks before it’s too late! What do you mean I’m overreacting? It very well could be metastasizing to my brain as we speak and you keep yammering away about something benign! Ugh…you’re all useless.

My friends and family are all very aware of my crazy person rants. I know it’s stupid. I’m aware, painfully aware, of how I must sound to people. I can’t help it, though. Whenever something happens to me, even the smallest of symptoms, I always think the worst. This has gotten a tad better over time but this whole twitching business has brought it back out in full force again. The internet says I could have one of many things, most of which are completely harmless conditions (e.g. stress, fatigue, dehydration). That’s not what I see, though. I see MS, ALS, and other horrific neurological disorders that are also listed as possible options.

I recently went to my general practitioner where he ordered me countless blood tests and some weird thyroid ultrasound (which I have yet to do). When I went in to LabCorp the lady drawing my blood just couldn’t help herself:

“Wow, you sure are getting a lot of blood drawn.”

“Mmmhmm, yes, I know.”

“No, like really a lot!”

“YES I KNOW!”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing you crazy bitch…just poke me and get on with your business!”

I left seething and even more paranoid that something must be seriously wrong with me to have had even the phlebotomist questioning me. My blood work checked out a-okay; which was a relief and disappointing all in one. I’m still no closer to figuring out what the hell is wrong with my edgy nerves which seem to have taken on a life of their own lately. I’m not concerned per say, I know no matter what it is that I’m going to be okay, I just pray that okay is really okay and not just…okay.

Broken Stiletto Dreams

Many of you have been interested in hearing about my developments on the “foot front.” I have indeed seen a podiatrist since my last posting. The reason I haven’t said anything until now, is because I haven’t had any answers. It is with a heavy but strong heart that I can now say to you, I know what has been ailing me.

My appointment with the Foot Dr. was about a month and a half ago. What I thought was going to be an in-and-out, we’re-going-to-fix-you-quick-like, appointment, turned in to a full on investigation. After being examined, prodded and poked by what seemed like a dozen specialists, my Dr. finally came to two conclusions: 1) I needed physical therapy for my strength and balance and 2) that I needed to be referred to a neurologist. I thought she was joking. What in God’s name would I need to see a neurologist about? She explained that there were a couple of nerve conditions that she thought I may have and that she wanted to rule them out before she continued on with treatment.

Clearly, the nerves are not something you want to have issues with so of course, this news both frustrated and scared me. For the sake of brevity I’m going to fast forward up until this last week, which was when I finally received an answer; mind you, not an answer I wanted to hear, but nonetheless, an answer.

Last Wednesday I was finally observed by my neurologist. He gave me a thorough once over and determined that he wanted me to get an EMG test. For those of you who don’t know what that is, it is not a pleasant experience. It involves sending electric pulses through the nerves to get readings on how they respond. There’s also a portion that involves sticking needles in to the body while flexing muscles. My test was administered two days later and was probably one of the most emotional experiences I’ve ever had. I couldn’t believe it had come to this.

After what seemed like an eternity, it was finally over and time for my reading. The test was conclusive that I have a hereditary form of Peripheral Neuropathy, also known as Charot-Marie-Tooth Disease. This is a degenerative neurological disorder that affects the extremities causing atrophy in the calves, ankles, feet, forearms and hands. There is no cure and it cannot be reversed. My condition will stay the same or it will get worse. I will say that when I read the full description of what the disease entailed, I knew that was what I had. It was like, here in black and white, is what iv'e been trying to articulate my whole life but was never capable of. Unfortunately, no second opinion will be needed.

While this news is clearly not good, I’m staying positive. The symptoms that I have at this point in my life are relatively mild and have not affected me a great deal. I hope and pray that it will never get to the point where my walking will be seriously impaired but if it does, I’ll deal with it when it comes - one day at a time, one foot in front of the other.

http://millercenter.uchicago.edu/learnaboutpn/typesofpn/hereditary/charcotmarietooth.shtml

Knock, Knock, Knockers

Looking at myself in the mirror this morning I just couldn’t help but think to myself, “Jesus Christ almighty, you have NO friggin boobs.” Actually, I’ve had those thoughts almost every morning of every day since around the time I hit puberty - just about the time when I realized that “this” was as good as it was going to get (placing arms on hips while slowing turning from side to side – don’t forget the loud sigh). Yes, I have a flat chest and no I’m not happy with it.

I know, I know…I need to love what God gave me and all that jazz but in today’s society, where getting breast implants are as easy as taking a trip to your local grocery store (I’ll take the 360 cc’s variety with a saline fill, please) it can’t hurt to at least look in to it, right? If I’ve been thinking about this since I was a teenager, what’s the problem with exploring my options?

Good! I’m glad you see it my way because I’ve made my appointment. No, no…don’t worry. It’s just a consultation at this point. I’m neither sold nor against it at this time. However, I am really excited about talking with a respected Dr. that can tell me my options and offer some advice about making an informed decision. I owe it to myself to at least explore the possibility since it is something that means a lot to me.

Why am I sharing this? I’m not entirely sure – I think I wanted to give you fair warning so that if the next time you see me I have huge knockers, you won’t be surprised. JUST KIDDING…I had you there. They wouldn’t be HUGE per se, just kind of huge…

Feet Consult

The time has finally come for me to go to a podiatrist. How I’ve lasted this long without seeking treatment will remain a mystery to me. For as long as I can remember they’ve caused me trouble. I know what you’re thinking – I should be grateful to HAVE feet. I could have stumps; I could have nubs for toes or bunions the size of small planets. In retrospect, yes, I feel extremely fortunate and blessed to have functioning limbs. However, when you’ve taken as many tumbles as I have, when you’ve dealt with as many bloody knees, shoe issues and foot pain, you too would be sick of it and the tiniest bit ungrateful.

Just to give you a little background, I have weird feet; always have had. When I was young I really didn’t notice it that much. My friends would always ask me, “Why do your feet look weird?” or “Why do you walk funny?” These comments would hurt my feelings but I always let it roll of my back because to me, nothing seemed wrong; they must be the weird ones because all I saw was a foot and some toes! What’s weird about that?

My teenage years came and I found it increasingly hard to find shoes that worked for my wide foot and exceptionally high arch. This was always a painful issue for me because I was very interested in fashion and wanted to wear a lot of shoes that I couldn’t. Still, I made it work. I was lucky because the thicker “wedge” heels were in style and I could manage to squeeze my foot in and walk semi-normally.

As college came around it got harder and harder to walk in even a thick heel. I found myself eating shit…a lot. Besides being incredibly embarrassing (I would often take tumbles in large crowds or at fraternity houses) it started to get a little dangerous. I would always insist on wearing at least a 3 inch heel out to the bars at night which, if you went to Chico, know can be quite precarious on the walk home with about 6-7 drinks under your belt. I would often wake up the next morning with scraped palms and gashed shins.

Now, as an adult, I’ve experienced the most problems. Forget about wearing a heel, I can’t do it. People don’t believe me when I tell them that but it’s true – I can’t walk a lick in heels, even small ones. Some people will make me prove it to them and I’ll say, “FINE!” Put on a pair of their stilettos, stand up and crumple to the floor with my first step. “Oh yeah, NOW you believe me, Bitch,” as I look up at them and massage my bruised knee. It’s annoying, frustrating and beyond inconvenient. I can spend hours trying on shoes and have not one pair work for me.

Well, I officially came to a cross roads last week. I’m working on being a healthier me and have decided that part of a healthier me will involve improvements for my feet. I’m going in for my very first feet consult in one week! The mere thought of it makes me light headed with glee. Could I potentially wear heels after all this time? They (my Dr.) claim that, yes! There is a good possibility I will be strutting my stuff in heels with little trouble after they’re done with me.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’ve obviously gotten by up until this point and my feet aren’t mutinous or horribly disfigured. They look fine in the shoes that do work for them and my toes are always groomed and painted. The way I see it now is that they’re a work in progress and I refuse to sit idly by while every other woman in the world gets to rock fierce heels. I want the fierceness too, damnit. I want the opportunity to wear dainty shoes and strappy stilettos. Who knows, maybe it’s a lost cause but at least I’ll be able to walk away, perhaps not gracefully, but with my head held high knowing that I tried my best.

Compliments and Coworkers

Within the last 8 months I’ve lost 20 lbs; partly from stress (and stomach issues as a result of stress) and partly due to the fact that I loved the way shedding weight felt. I decided to continue on even after my stress had abated. Why not, right? Once you’re in the groove it doesn’t seem like a chore anymore. Might as well get rid of some unwanted poundage!

The point of this blog is not to entice compliments or be the recipient of ooo’s and ahhh’s; I’m definitely not the kind of person that needs a lot of pats on the back and most of my friends and family members have all said something anyway. However, I do find it strange that virtually nobody at my work has mentioned anything. I mean, for fucks sake, I went from a size 10 to a size 6! That is a huge difference on somebody who wasn’t big to begin with.

There are about 100 people in our SF office. You would think that at least a handful of people would have said something. Are people here really that busy and self involved that they don’t take notice of things like that? I can see it now, poor little Janey sits at her desk behind a wall of food wrappers as she binge eats, then runs to the bathroom to throw it all up. She continues to get skinnier and skinnier and all the company can say is, “Wow that free gym membership must really be paying off for people!”

I know, I know…I am not bulimic, nowhere near in fact. I’m completely healthy and am at a normal body weight. And I’m certainly not devastated at the lack of response. However, I do find it odd. Especially on days like today, where I’m feeling particularly slender in my new black slacks and form fitting cream turtle neck. I mean come on people! I look hot!

I’m going to give them the benefit of the doubt here. Perhaps it’s because they’ve seen me every day for the last year and therefore didn’t notice the gradual change? Or maybe they feel it’s inappropriate to comment on a coworker’s weight? That could definitely be it.

Well, whatever the reason is, I guess it doesn’t matter. I’m not even entirely sure why I’m writing about this. Maybe it IS an ego thing. Maybe I really do want people to shower me with compliments. Maybe I could use a few comments along the lines of, “Great job on that TPC Report! And btw, have you lost weight?”

My First Taste of Asphalt

Yesterday was an interesting day. I found out first hand that not only do office politics exist in my company, but they most certainly are now involving me. I was thrown under a large bus yesterday; a large bus carrying even larger people...at weight capacity.

I have made a big transition recently from supporting two managers to supporting the CEO, CAO and a Senior Manager. One can only imagine that learning the way all three of these individuals like to work, can be tricky and time consuming. But on top of that, I had to learn a whole new set of job skills some that include but certainly aren’t limited to: billing, expense reports, billing, engagement letters, billing, meeting requests, and did I mention billing?

Now, because there was such a great deal to acclimate to, I have been leaning quite a bit on a woman (she will be referred to as “a woman,” “the woman,” or “that woman,” for anonymity’s sake) who was the former assistant to the CEO and CAO. She offered a lot of training and guidance; the whole time being sickeningly nice and understanding of my seemingly endless questions (which by the way, I never asked more than once). Until yesterday, I was convinced this person had my best interest at heart and wanted to see me succeed. Man, was I way off.

I sent this woman a pretty standard email yesterday asking about a billing/engagement letter procedure. The email was sent simply to receive insight as to how the CEO likes the process to start. Some time passed and I never heard back from her. Instead, I got a visit from my manager stating that this woman had forwarded my email chain to her manager where she had in turn, forwarded it to my manager!

Apparently her “reasoning” was that she was concerned I should be going to somebody in the SF office for mentoring (She is in the MP office). I looked at my manager in disbelief, explained to him my logic behind my choice to send this particular email to the woman, after which he responded by saying that it made perfect sense.

Now, if in fact, she was doing it out of “concern” for me, why, GOD WHY, would she involve our managers? Why wouldn’t she have just sent me a quick email that said something along the lines of, “Julia, I believe this is something you should be asking your mentor about?” The answer is simple: She has an agenda and people with agendas should be avoided like the plague.

Clearly this woman wanted to make it known that she disagreed with the way I was handling things and she did it in the most inappropriate and disrespectful way possible; she fed me to the wolves, hoping that I would be reprimanded for being too inquisitive (is that EVER a bad thing?). Well, the good news is that the joke is on her. Her little stunt only made her look stupid and catty.

I was so tempted to email this woman just to tell her how I felt but decided against it. I wish to give no ammo to a person who will clearly stab me in the back again if the opportunity presents itself. I will rise against this petty attempt to get ahead and focus on my job like I should be. I will wash the track marks off my back and try to remember that the discomfort although strong at the time, is only temporary.