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抱歉，指定的主题不存在或已被删除或正在被审核看“口袋漫画”
上特色党课|党员|特色_新浪新闻
　　原标题：看“口袋漫画”
上特色党课　　本报讯 （记者 何苏鸣 李攀 通讯员 许文飞） “有些工作嘛应付应付就好了，不要事事都那么较真”“这事不用跟我讲，你还是直接找领导吧”……近日，宁波全市党员干部都收到了名为《党员干部负面言行提醒本》的“口袋漫画”。小册子里涵盖政治规矩、工作作风、群众纪律、生活作风、学习风气等5个方面80项负面言行，是从宁波全市机关干部、退休干部、基层党员和群众代表等各行各业、各界人士中征集而来，并在一定范围内进行公示公议后梳理汇总而成。
　　“一些负面言行虽然没有触犯法律法规，但容易在不知不觉中动摇信念、消退意志，尤其会在群众中造成负面影响，危害党群干群关系。”宁波市委组织部相关负责人表示，推行《党员干部负面言行提醒本》，就是用通俗易懂的方式，引导各级党员干部说合适话、做得体事。
　　“两学一做”学习教育开展以来，宁波坚持以学促行、知行合一，在全市党员干部中营造比学赶超的良好氛围。鄞州博威集团党委副书记董国福给企业党员上党课，并把党课音频放到网络上。短短3个月时间，就有5000多人次的下载量。宁波还开展“百堂特色党课进基层”行动，在全市范围征集100堂贴近实际、通俗易懂的特色党课，突出主题、聚焦问题、贴近基层，运用身边事例，现身说法。
　　“一名党员一面旗。”宁波还在农村和社区、国有企业和非公有制企业、社会组织和服务行业、机关事业单位、科研单位和学校等行业领域，全面开展“看齐创优当先锋”行动，教育引导党员积极履行“一员双岗”，亮身份、亮承诺、亮作风、亮业绩。全面开展“五查五看”活动，要求每位党员干部对标检视党性意识、规矩意识、宗旨意识、担当精神和道德品行，树立问题导向和短板思维。基层党组织和党员个人要针对查摆出的短板问题，列出问题清单、整改清单，在整改落实中提升群众满意度。
在一个讲究出身的时代，985、211的身份会伴随一个学校的终身的，也会伴随一个校友终身的，除非985、211也建立了退出机制。
万科的事情，说来说去，也就是一块肉的事情！
七个月之后，土耳其强人终于向俄罗斯强人“道歉”，重提“朋友和伙伴”。这是为什么？动漫星空&>&&>&&>&正文
小智拥有的超强神奇宝贝 最厉害的不是喷火龙？
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　　《精灵宝可梦》中的各种小精灵都是训练师的心头最爱，要知道它们可不是只有可爱，超强的战斗力才是它们王牌。其中作品的男主小智在几部动漫下来收服了很多小精灵，每一只精灵都与小智有很深的羁绊，看了这么多《精灵宝可梦》，有欣喜亦有感动，每一次的相遇，都饱含了小智对精灵们的爱。现在来看看小智拥有的小精灵都有哪些比较强力吧。（排名不分先后）
　　小智最著名的小精灵，也是他第一只拥有的小精灵。可爱的造型，那放电的绝技，很是招人喜欢。后期战力还是非常高的。
小火龙 →火恐龙 →喷火龙
　　在EP045中，为了与化石翼龙决斗，火恐龙进化成了喷火龙与化石翼龙战斗。其实在小火龙进化成火恐龙开始便不再听从小智话了，在EP106中曾经在橘子群岛被急冻光线冰冻，小智的悉心照料终于感动了喷火龙，喷火龙也成为了小智的王牌。在EP135中，为了让喷火龙更好的修行，小智将它留在了喷火龙山谷。之后它重新回到小智身边，并且完虐爱丽丝的快龙。
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"The scrunchy is nervous outside of its' natural habitat."
Please send me photos of fashion disasters you see during your commute!!
I'm kickin it off
with a couple of pics I snapped this week. Yes I realize they are all easy targets, but I have to start somewhere right? And yes, it is a testament to my wussiness that all of these photos were taken from the back. Hopefully in time I’ll get ballsier. Don't worry - I will obscure the subject’s face if you send me pictures of people taken from the front. Snap and send please!
Hi all! If you've noticed that I've been MIA lately here's why...Dun dun dun...I've decided to move my blog!I was approached by one of my favorite websites who asked if they could host the blog on their site. They think it's entertaining and funny and something that their readers can relate to blah blah blah.Anyway, after making them swear up and down to keep my identity private - I decided to go for it.It is going to make my life easier (I can just email my entries in - no more uploading) and it will expose me to new readers (which is mucho importante to someone as ahem, self involved as yours truly).I hope you'll follow me over there and continue our love affair.Wait, did that sound desperate?If you want to follow me over there, that'd be cool. If not, also cool. Equally cool actually. More cool - if you want to know the truth. (link below)yours,CG.ps: if you have any trouble with the above link just go to wwww.worksnw.com/blog/
Just& back - heart racing.
Details to follow.
At about noon, Mister Man (office crush extraordinaire)
stuck his head into my office and said (super casually), “hey do you want to
sneak out for lunch?” And I was all, “absolutely!” (Immediately cursing myself
for the over-eager response).
He: “Cool, meet in the lobby in 30?”
Me: “Sounds good” (sounding marginally less creepily
Cut to – out on the street – walking/talking. He’s all
excited about this amazing factory in India he found where the women handcraft
everything blah, blah, blah and it’s like a hippy-commune paradise or something
(but with bindis). Details shmetails, I was looking at this hair. Yes, that’s
right… while he talked about human rights and fair trade, I was wondering “what
kind of magical product does he use? Is it a mousse? Is it a gel? Must… know…
product.” Does that make me officially, a shallow a-hole? Hush your mouth! It
was a rhetorical question.
Anyway, next thing I knew, we were stepping into the
Ritz–effen-Carlton, at which point I promptly broke into a cold sweat. I thought I was going to have a heart attack,
until I saw that we were going to BLT Market and not the front desk. BLT was
packed but we got a table right away. It was noisy and super well lit - not at
all the setting for a clandestine tryst so I relaxed a bit. We ate (my salad was
divinely inspired, but I digress). The rest is a bit of a blur. All I could
think about was the fact that above us were countless luxury hotel rooms, and that
if we wanted to - we could be in one less than five. Then, I wondered, how did
we get a seated so fast? Did he make a frigging reservation? Ohmigod, did he
plan this? Is he busting a move???
Punchline? Nothing happened. So why do I feel like something
major just went down?
You can call me, call me anytime. Call me!
So Bloke and I have been talking on the “phone” (in reality,
we Skype via laptop as it’s free whether he’s in Europe, Japan or Cleveland).
And to be honest we’re talking a lot more now that we are broken up than we
were when we were together. Just goes to show that no matter how old you get,
the rules of dating will always be completely ridiculous. Do not count on age
to bring dignity into the situation cause it ‘aint gone happen child. Anyway – now that he’s not my boyfriend, it’s
like the dark veil of jealousy has lifted and I’m me again. He, on the other
hand is back to being totally hilarious and cracking me up with stories about
his band mates, their various conquests (something that I would not have been
even mildly amused by mere weeks ago), and subsequent emergency penicillin
shots. So anyway – we talked for three hours last night which is why I’m having
a hard time keeping my head off the keyboard this morning.
I’ve been busy rediscovering the joy that is Kelly. He has
stepped up to the plate and is totally showing up for me ever since the Bloke
debacle crash-landed. Obviously the Petunia emails have been keeping us
laughing. But, as always, there’s more. He also showed me  evidence that perfect Caroline has a bit of a
pill problem, which is seriously dreamy (I know I’m going to hell – save it for
someone who gives a damn). I guess she’s developed quite the dependence on
Ambien, and recently took a Jersey joy snooze-ride in her parent’s Mercedes (of which
she has no memory, as she was under the noddy-nod at the time). Anyway – Kelly
knows because she’s been getting tons of legal correspondence via email (I
guess she crashed into the next door neighbor’s great-room, and then got out of
the car and went foraging around for snacks). Yum! I wonder if she’ll have to
do community service. Cackle!
So I have this theory about the first post break up hookup.
Basically, a woman can’t begin to move on and break the broken hearted spell
her ex has placed on her, until she has her first serious post breakup makeout
session. I’m not saying that making out with any old shmo will cure a broken
heart. I’m just saying it’s the first step back to your former sassiness. It
helps re-awaken the fun girl who’s been hibernating inside you while you
snuggled on the couch with Ben and Jerry. Suddenly, you take off your
heart-break blinders and realize the streets are teeming with cutie pies. It’s
like Sleeping Beauty, bu-cept with your virginia.
Now I know what you are thinking. You are thinking, “CG, an
awful lot of your solutions to life problems are slutty in nature.” To that I
say simply. Um… true. But hey, I just do what works. I’m not picky.
My point? I went out with Ali last night and ended up making
out for like an hour straight with a cute, but way too young model/actor dude
who I’d never be interested in in real life. I’m not gonna lie, I’d drool over
him in real life, but boys like that need way too much attention for my taste
(Snore. No seriously, your hair looks great!). Anyway – I think he broke it for
sure because I’ve been feeling extremely frisky ever since. So ok, it’s only
been about 10 hours. But still.
Everybody looks so amazing. When did they have time to shop
for these friggin summer outfits? Seriously! Ugh. Can you tell I’m feeling
poopy-pants today? It’s harder to camouflage low self esteem in this heat! In
the winter, I’d head straight for my baggy black turtleneck sweater. What can I
wear with this mood now? Chunky sandals? A vintage Robert Smith T-shirt? Crap, I’m crabby! I miss my little
sister. I’m craving the Midwest and the burger bangs of summer.* Must plan a
trip home – if only to remind myself that I’ve still got it.
*For the uninitiated, burger bangs are something I miss the hell out of as they remain largely a regional phenomenon. My sister and I bonded over the feeling of hair superiority they gave us – which is why we’d while away a summer day playing, “I spy a burger bang.”
*The burger bang is comprised of three tight curls at the
forehead (one under two back). Occasionally, the curls are picked out and
feathered, but more often left untouched - so that each curl holds the exact
shape of the iron that birthed it.
1 - tight curl under = bun
2 - tight curl going back = meat
3- second tight curl going back = bun
End result – delicious!
Ali and I went upstate for a little chill out/heartbreak
weekend. A friend of hers has a hundred year old farmhouse that she let us
borrow. I have to admit it was pretty and relaxing. But I don’t think I was
ready for pretty or relaxing. I wasn’t ready to be alone with my brain thank
you very much. At this stage, peace and quiet only serve to create a better
atmosphere for obsession and agony. Ok I realize I’m being dramatic. I’m glad
we got away even if it was a little too pastoral for words. We did go on an
amazing hike and I forgot about everything for an hour or two, so that’s
progress right? I spent the rest of the weekend writing Bloke’s name in a
notebook and doodling arrows with hearts through them. Just kidding. But yeah,
lots of angsty reflection and yes… the festival of snacking continues.
As we all know my coping mechanisms aren’t as refined as they perhaps should be for a person of my age and station. We all know I like to have a cocktail and a flirt/snog when I’m down in the dumps. We all know that I’m prone to make out with the inappropriately stupid, or young, or semi-stinky - particularly when my ego is up on blocks. What you may not know& (it came as a bit of a shock to me) was the snacking issue. You know those women who waste away when their hearts are broken? Who can’t eat or sleep or apply blush? I am not one of them. No, it turns out that
and theatrical sighs, all I want to do is eat and sleep. Nor do I look pale and drawn. I am as healthy as a horse (and will weigh nearly as much if I keep this up). Ali and I agree that if I’m going to be eating my feelings, I should at least attempt to keep it gourmet. It’s one thing to sob my way through a delicate pear tart, but the minute I tear into a box of Hostess or Enteman’s is the minute that the whole thing becomes a trailer tragedy
Well... it sank.
Our little ship built from scraps of scruffy hair and skinny jeans, stuck together with whiskey and Orbit gum has gone down, down, down, down. Last night, at about midnight, Bloke called and pulled the plug. Actually I was the technical plug puller but it was obvious that he’d opened the door and was standing there like a gentleman holding it open and was only letting me slam it as a courtesy. He said he didn’t think that things were going so great and what did I think blah blah blah. Cut to me saying, “I don’t think we should do this anymore.” He said that he was still crazy about me but that the whole long distance thing was all of the bad parts of a relationship and none of the good parts. I agreed. I got off the phone first, even though I wanted to stay on forever and keep him talking through the night like a hostage negotiator waiting for the cops to break down the backdoor. Anything so that it wouldn’t be sewn up. But old habits de hard and I shifted into self preservation mode and said that I had to get some sleep. Pride is such an ass kicker.
So it goes without saying that I’ve got the blues. My new office is much harder to sneak out of than my old office - being that it is an actual office rather than a glorified hallway. So I’ve been taking lots of bathroom breaks to cry, dry and reapply. This blows to the tenth power. Luckily Ali has cleared her social calendar for me and has a 46 hour, relationship detox planned that she says will have me saying “Bloke who?” before he even calls to get his records back.
Went to see Bloke this weekend and although we did have a fabulous shagathon, the rest of the trip was tepid at best. All this bickering has created an awful energy between us and I’ll just let you guess who doesn’t have the power in the relationship anymore. Yes, the fact that I have repeatedly gotten pathetic coupled with my awareness of recent pathetic-ness kept whirling around in my brain, making me less secure than ever. It was not festive. Even when we were having sweet, basking in the afterglow moments it was there - the 400 pound gorilla. It’s one part jealousy… one part absence… and one part her - the Amazon princess of tour management. I didn’t even see her this trip, as she was taking the weekend off (probably to shoot the cover of Maxim or visit her identical twin sister Angelina).
But it didn’t matter that she wasn’t around. She’s not really the problem now is she? The problem is my thinking. If only knowing it were enough to change it…
Anyway the visit went smoothly – no catastrophic events. But it was bitter-sweet, like I was already mourning something. Hopefully this is just a phase that we won’t even remember a year from now.
Below is an email that Kelly just forwarded me from my team-mate “Petunia” regarding her malfunctioning computer. This is completely unedited. Sometimes I love the world.
To whom it may concern in the IT department,
I guess you think you’re pretty funny. You know, some of us actually have to work for living.
Not everyone can hang out in the basement and play jokes on people all day long.
Please stop crashing my computer!!!
Thank you,
(real name removed to protect the crazy-clogs)
Yep – Kelly was right all along (how could I ever have doubted him?) about there being a nut in every office. She revealed herself to me this afternoon after the strat meeting. Let’s just call her Petunia. Don’t sass me! I pick the pseudonyms around here – and I say Petunia it shall be!
Well anyway, it’s no wonder that I couldn’t sniff her out.
Her ingenious disguise is her complete and total ordinariness. She has an overwhelmingly beigey disposition (and look) which successfully threw me off her crazy trail until now. Let that be a lesson to all aspiring sociopaths – speak softly and wear lots of oatmeal colored sweaters. In the matter of an hour I learned that:
a. At age 45 she still lives with her mother.
b. She forgot to take her pill today.
c. She has recurring dreams about how bologna is made.
d. She’s trying to get security to install a camera in the supply closet to get to the bottom of “whatever’s going on with the staple refills.”
I’m just going to stop there.
Anyway, I called Kelly and said, “found ‘er,” and hung up. He was in front of my desk in less than five laughing his ass off. He says I’m not going to believe the emails she sends the help desk. I can’t wait!
My office crush is officially official. Yes – I too see the correlation between this and the shitstorm I’ve created between Bloke and me. But it’s a chicken/egg situation and I can’t remember which one came first (nor do I give a toss). But let me be clear – this is not the sort of thing one wants to see go somewhere. This is simply the sort of thing that one needs to – say - keep one’s self from putting one’s head in the oven. I’m talking about that unconsummated energy that makes the corporate world keep spinning.
Without it there’d be way, way, way more hair pulling, more lying on the floor and kicking, and ultimately – many more take this job and shove it speeches. But I digress.
Here’s the thing… Homeboy has one helluva haircut. But wait, there’s more. I’ve told you he looks like a mofo in a suit right? Well it’s out of control. Besides the suits themselves (which I’m guessing are in the first-last–and-security neighborhood, price-wise), he manages to pull together all these fabulous elements to go along with it. We are talking dreamy ties, dreamy sock, dreamy cufflink thingies, dreamy pocket squares. What’s that you say? Your virginia just froze over due to the many unsexy items I just listed? Well… ehhhhh… You have a point. But trust me – on him it really works!
Have you ever had an intensely paranoid dream that your boyfriend was cheating on you, or your best friend was talking behind your back – and you either overhear her, or walked in on him/them, and the whole thing spiraled downward and eventually the filmstrip of devastation ended but the dreamstate lingered on and on, because you couldn’t will the dream into editing in a revenge scene, and you couldn’t wake up, so you just had to let the waves of pitch-black-moaning-nothingness wash over you until your alarm finally went off?
Really? Did your version have a score by Bjork?
Well I’d love to hear how you handled it – because I handled it like a crabby toddler at a five star restaurant. It started badly, got awful bad in the middle, and ended baaaaadly.
Here’s a rundown of my adorable behavior.
1. I woke up angry and suspicious after my sucky dream. Yes dream. Not anything that may have happened in – say – real life. (oh newsflash – I had the cheating boyfriend dream, not the smack talking girlfriend dream – yes I know, you’re shocked).
2. Called up Bloke and started baiting him with suspicious comments until I drove him batshit.
3. Fell into shame spiral because I could not believe I was acting like such a nut.
4. Called him back pretending to be sane and repaired the damage. But make no mistake, the residual shiza
is piling up all around us due to this, and similar debacles. It’s getting old for both of us. So even if he is a big cheater, and turns out to be totally in love with his Amazon tour manager – this is not worth flushing my dignity over repeatedly.
Well, it’s official, I have full-blown spring fever. But this time instead of the usual desire to
hump the leg of every guy I pass on the street, I can not seem to stop shopping. I think I’m just so happy to be able to wear pretty clothes. This winter was long, gray and uninspiring. Ohmigod it’s getting bad y’all! Things are still touch and go with Bloke. Even the pettiest fight takes on new significance when the other person is
thousands of miles away. So maybe that’s why I’m drowning my sorrows in handbags and sandals and frocks oh my. Do you think? Anyway I’m planning a sad return to the soup diet as I type.
To my 5 and a half loyal readers - my sincerest apologies. I have a week and half of posts sitting here that have not gone out as they should have. They've all been hanging out in typepadland as "drafts" rather than posts. Normally this wouldn't have gone unnoticed by moi for so long - but as you know, my new position is kicking my proverbial badonkadonk and I'm slippin up here and there - FORGIVE!
I am posting them all now - which I know will seem weird - but trust me it would seem weirder if I were to hang on to them and dole them out slowly (I'd rather have all of us on the same page thank you very much).
I don’t know about you guys but I have a very pedestrian
palette. I am not ashamed to say that
down market foods are generally my fave. I’m very dude friendly in this way,
and can happily survive in a tour bus eating only fluorescent foodstuffs for up
to seven days (at which point I waddle off the bus and pour a jar of
multivitamins down my throat). Anyway, I can accept that many of the fancier
food out there are legitimately delicious to others. But there are a few things
that I honestly wonder if anyone really likes. Or, are they just trophy foods
that one has to automatically add to ones menu-rotation once one’s salary
creeps toward the mid six figures?&
Things I accept that people actually like (but I hate)
&Things I sometimes think people are gagging down in an
effort to appear richer
Foie gras (yes I know this is just pate + torture)
Sure, some of you will insist that caviar is beyond yummy -
but would you still be singing that song if Beluga were a buck fifty a
And another thing – it just so happens that I don’t
automatically find meals tastier when they’ve been molded into a cone. Please
explain - when did a cylindrical salad become more desirable than a salad
shaped salad? Guess what? I don’t relish the mandatory hunt for structural
toothpicks required to ensure my mouth not be skewered, prior to taking a
tentative bite.
So it’s finally warm here in New York City, but not enough
to warrant the borderline nudity of my fellow female subway passengers. Dunno
about you guys but I actually started dressing down once I move to the
city. I’ll never forget the first time
that I squeezed in to a teeny tiny ensemble, stepped outside, and hadn’t made
it a third of the way down the block before a garbage truck drove up over the
sidewalk and nearly crashed into a building so its driver could get a better
ogle/holler. So now I tend to cover up a bit more unless I’m doing door to door
car service.
Let me take this opportunity to tell everyone that I’m
officially over the shorts trend. Sure they look adorable on all of you who
tastefully pair them with tights and heels. Sure it’s exciting to mix it up
once in awhile. But inevitably, much like the ladies far and wide who embraced
the low-rider jeans phenomenon when clearly it was not in their best interest –
so too are shorty-shorts a slippery slope. Now, girl – I know you’re hot. I
know you sweatin grrrrrl. But how refreshing
can it possibly be to have ALL that bare leg sticking to the subway bench?? And
honey this isn’t the gym - it’s not like sanitary wipe dispensers are peppered
throughout the train to help with sweatiquette. I swear to God, shorts on the
wrong gal are a public health risk.
Claire’s new assistant has been calling an average of 8
times a day. Claire must be on her broom
because I can hear (let’s just call her) Newblood fighting back the tears each
time. She called to find out what the hell Claire was talking about when she
asked for a “no calorie yummy”. She called because Claire told her to have 5
pairs of pants hemmed “the length I like.” I could go on. Most times, there
wasn’t a lot I could do but listen sympathetically. Claire’s smart as hell -
which means she freshens up the crazy quite frequently to keep us on our toes.
But there are a few constants. She likes her snacks, ultra-specific, yet
extremely hard to find (quite possibly imaginary). She likes things to look a
certain way at all times - a certain way that she will never ever describe.
Ahhhh, memories.
At first I was more than willing to help – glad my
experience in the trenches could finally benefit somebody. But that feeling
quickly went away and was replaced by that used feeling you get when you stay
up all night listening to a girl complain about her boyfriend who happens to
have a big ole juicy beer gut (think with-child), and who also happens to
constantly criticize her body. And then the next day, when you are trying to
keep your sleep-deprived head off the keyboard at work – she calls to tell you
they just got engaged. Do you know that feeling?
PS: My apologies to everyone that& I haven't been putting in my usual funny links - this new position is kicking my ass! I can barely keep up the blog itself. I'll get back to it soon - I swear!
Dear Diary – I Am A
Big Fat Cliché
Okay, so for the first time ever. I officially have an office crush. Now I know
what you're thinking. No. I have not
crossed over the line from happy fag hag to unknowing beard candidate. I am not
completely clueless – and I certainly know my gays. Believe it or not - there is actually a
straight man on my new team! I only met him yesterday because he travels
extensively and just returned from India with this amazing collection of
jaquard. He is dreamy - as in grown-up-man looks-good-in-a-suit dreamy, as in I
couldn't handle him in real life dreamy. I know that sounds weird – it’s just
that I have no grown-up man experience. I mean, I can charm the pants off of a drunken musician, but I don’t
have the flash cards for someone who can, say, completely understand a
But what am I even talking about??? My dance card is full,
right? I know, I know. But Bloke and I had the gnarliest fight the other night,
a fight that I’m afraid was completely my fault. I am so totally freaked out by
his super-model tour manager that I can’t relax and trust him like I know I
should. It’s a sickness I tell you! Ugh - therapy. Yes. I know. But in the
meantime I can enjoy this harmless crushing. It makes the day go by so much
Dingdong the prick is dead! Well, thank you Jesus for small favors because Ali dumped le douche.
Took her long enough, huh? Anyway, I guess that the bossy condescending
bullshidt wasn't just reserved for moi. Guess gave Ali one too many life-tips cause she finally threw the hammer
down. I'm so relieved, as I am in a full-blown neurotic mode with Bloke and
desperately need a sidekick for the drinking extravaganza I'm about to embark
upon. Sick as it sounds, the only cure for this type of relationship soul
sickness is to go out looking unbelievable and let a few emo-clods puff me back
up again with their cliché complements and their enabling liquor purchases.
Please don’t’ send me angry letters telling me that this sort of crap sets the
women’s movement back twenty years. I am all too clear. If anyone has a better
idea I’d love to hear it.
*And if your “better idea” is along the lines of: “Girlfriend, you gotta find the love within
yourself, girlfriend!” Or any other regurgitated Oprah-ism, I swear to God that
I will hunt you down and kill you. For realzies!
So here's my post Bloke visit recap. Of course it was
awesome to see him. Of course, we did all manner of debaucherous things to one
another in a crappy hotel room, upon sheets with the lowest thread count
conceivable (I’m pretty sure they were made of burlap). Of course, of course,
of course - BUT… there was a little hitch in my giddy-up, truth be told. I was
very unhappy to discover that Bloke’s tour manager is drop dead gorgeous. We
are talking Jennifer Connelly, but wearing a Misfits T-shirt, and a pair of
those Ann Demuelemeester boots that everybody below 14th St. owns.&I wish I could tell you that I handled it
with grace and dignity.&Mmmmm – I’ll
give it a sorta. Though I didn't actually say anything incriminating, her
beauty was so shocking that I was struck speechless the moment I saw her, and
I’m sure my expression spoke volumes. I could actually feel the blood draining
from my face and my mouth go dry. Now, I think I'm a pretty smart girl… fairly
levelheaded. I mean I’m not tragically insecure or anything. So why am I
obsessing about her to this degree?&Seriously, for the entire flight home, and ever since she's all I can
think about. She definitely cast a perfectly proportioned (so tall!) shadow
over the weekend.
I haven't been in my new position long enough to take a
single day off, which is why all of my upcoming Bloke visits must be quick
Friday-to-Sunday in-and-outs. That adds up to two nights, one full day and some
change.&And I know this.&So how I ended up
with a 300 pound bag of luggage is as much a mystery to me as anyone.&I’ve been staring at it for an hour, and I
don’t not see a single item I can do without.&Please don’t ask me to explain how eight pairs of shoes are absolutely
essential (don’t even ask me about boots).&Nor can I explain why I’m bringing two or three bizarro pieces I’ve
never managed to wear in my regular life.&But I know that if I were to decide to edit ruthlessly and leave
something behind, I guaranty that something
would be on my mind for the entire trip. Listen, I know myself - I am hip
to the inner workings of my crazy brain. “Damn it!” I’d think as I enjoyed a
lazy breakfast in bed with Bloke. “This would have been the perfect time to
wear those snakeskin jodhpurs.” Ugh. I’ll never get out the door with this
Have I told you about my new office? Well first things first -- I have one. I am no longer the gatekeeper lording over
the moat between the world at large and Claire's office. Yes indeedy. I now have the power to close (slam, even!) a
door other than the bathroom. This is not to say that I don’t have to share it
with a coworker – oh, but of course I do, as I remain but a miserable
peon. The good news is that my office
partner (her name is Kathy) travels 70% of the month, so I haven't even met her
yet. I'm crossing my fingers that she is
not the token maniac that Kelly scared me about. I’ll admit that I have already
played detective a tiny bit. Is that bad? Anyway, there were a few things that
could be interpreted as possible red flags. But then again, my standards are a muy ridiculouso, don't you think? You
be the judge.
The Paris Hilton book (Confessions of an Heiress). Without having met Kathy I can’t be sure that her ownership of this wretched book is the result of anything other than a straightforward purchase. Crossing my fingers that it’s a joke gift or statement of irony.
The boyfriend in the majority of photos on her bulletin board appears to be a total choad. Horrifying signs include gel abuse, extreme Diesel jeans, and a sweeeeeet necklace collection (shudder).
Bloke and I have decided that since his tourapalooza
shows no sign of stopping, I’m going to start flying out to meet him on the
road a few weekends a month. He just sublet his pad and can now afford to
spring for my airfare. I’m so psyched, and am already planning outfits down to
the skivs. I mean who wouldn’t enjoy a stint as long distance mistress? God
knows I came to serve. Woohoo!
Yes, yes. I know all about the realities of tour. I
realize that what really awaits me is just a bunch of stinky boys who rarely
look up from the video game they’ve been paying for the past 16 hours in the
crusty tour bus lounge that’s always filled with that special rock-fart-weed
smell (which takes weeks to wash out of my hair), empty Red Bull cans, and a
thick layer of cheeto dust. But whatever.
there will be small breaks where we can crash in shitty motels (God knows I
love me a sleazy motor lodge) and attack each other. I miss him like the
dickens. There, I said it. Are you happy?
Can’t believe it. Claire just took me out to lunch! I
guess it was her formal “You’re moving up in the world, therefore I will treat
you like a human/colleague for about an hour,” ritual. I must admit it was very,
very awesome. She said I’d done a great job and that she respected my level of
dedication. She said she knew I was going to be very successful within the
company or wherever my career may take me. Trust me, it sounded way less canned
in person. I was mildly uncomfortable (sincerity makes me squirmy) but to my
surprise I had to fight to keep from welling up. When her spiel was finito, we
relaxed and enjoyed our very expensive salads (hello, The Four Seasons - maybe
you’ve heard of it?) and ventured into small talk land. The highpoint was when
I asked how Jasper was doing and she (without thinking) rolled her eyes
dramatically, though she quickly followed up with the official party line, “She’s
great! This is such an exciting time in her life.”
Exciting? Yeah, I guess that’s accurate. I did see a few
more pics of her in In Touch (or was it Star?) recently where she was cavorting
in a bikini with a certain offspring of a certain geriatric star known for
recycling his blonde wife for a younger(yet strangely identical) model every 5
years. They both looked like the worst Orange County Mcmansion trash that ever
washed up bloated and stinking on a Malibu beach. How did all these smart,
successful, (I’m not endorsing the word but) classy women spawn such rotten,
spoiled demon teens?
Well so far, I’ve met with five girls vying for the
Claire assistant job. It’s hard to shake out a distinguishing feature from the
bunch. All seem smart, educated, and in complete denial about the opportunities
that this position will offer. If I had a dollar for every time one of them
said she was a “creative person” looking for a “creative job,” I’d have enough
to get a weekly Pedi at Rescue. I desperately want to tell them each that the
most creative thing they’ll be doing for the next year is finding new,
inventive ways to talk themselves into getting out of bed each morning. Bur
really - what would be the use? It’s unavoidable - jobs like this are the
gatekeepers of the corporate world. Gotta do the time baby girls, ‘aint no way
Besides, the candidates came through HR and probably had
the life sucked out of them in the process. It will take months on the job for a
real personality to begin leaking out the cracks. But just as I was thinking I
may have to do a straight up eeny-meeny-miny-moe, something happened. As one interviewee
was heading toward the elevators to leave, Naomi blazed by in the other direction
(in full Naomi splendor). The girl (let’s just call her Alice), thinking she
was alone in the hallway, did a cartoony double take - and as her head turned
to follow Naomi’s retreating lycra-draped badonkadonk, her face lit up with
hysterical glee. But as her eyes continued to travel down the hall they met my
own. Her face lost a bit of color when she saw me, realizing I’d caught her in
an unguarded moment. We held each other’s gaze for a second, and despite my
best attempt at a poker face I’m sure my eyes betrayed my true feelings (um… try
complete understanding). She (in what I chose to interpret as sign of maturity)
quickly bowed out of our little staring contest, and disappeared into the
elevator banks.
Yessiree. I do believe we’ve got a contender.
Record companies 'aint what they used to be. Not that I actually know what I'm talking
about. I mean, everything I’ve learned
about the decadent Zeppelin-rock years I learned by watching VHI just like
everyone else. I've certainly never been shagged on a private jet by a guy
wearing fringe for example. Though, truth be told,
of my fantasies
(minus the fringe of course).&
But a least I DO remember a time when the label bastards bothered
to tell a dude in advance if he was going to be on the road for a nice long
stretch. Sure, this sort of detail may
not matter to junkie, couch-surf bands (whose drummer always gets arrested in
Cleveland for Fed Exing himself a couple grams of tar, bringing the tour to an
end in less than week anyway). But a guy with his shit together kinda needs to
know these things in order to make the appropriate arrangements. Maybe he owns a friggin plant that needs
watering (ever think of that, you evil execs?). Maybe he wants to sublet his
apartment temporarily since he won't need it. Or maybe wants to TELL HIS
FUCKING GIRLFRIEND IN ADVANCE! Instead, Bloke’s
record company sent him out on a four night gig which never really ended. They
continue to nickel and dime him with three more dates here, four more dates
there, and a quick pop over to Asia dotcha know. And before he/we knew it, a
month had trickled by and Bloke had only slept at home twice.
I hate to say it but I’m gonna have to learn to stop
laughing like a 13 year old every time he attempts to initiate phone sex.
Otherwise we’ll never make it through this.
Well Ali is still seeing (lets just call him) Biff. She says
it’s , nothing serious. But I seriously want to push him in front
of a train. Not that I’ll ever have the chance, because Biff would never be
caught dead riding mass trans. Anyway, I went out with them again the other
night and can honestly tell you that it will never, ever, ever happen again. He
is intolerably condescending to the tenth power. He did everything short of
ordering me a Shirley Temple, swear to God. I mentioned that he’s only a few
years older than me right? But seriously, he talks to me like I’m a 16 year old
tourist from Alabama who just stepped off the Statue Of Liberty ferry.&
He talked me through the wine ordering process (you’re
kidding, you smell the cork? I thought you were supposed to chew it up, swirl
it around in your mouth and spit it at the waiter!), He corrected my Italian
pronunciation when I ordered (who gives a fuck?! It wasn’t exactly dinner at
the Whitehouse. I mean it was a yummy restaurant but there were tranny hookers right outside the friggin window), and he
actually said, “you’ll understand when you get older,” when I told him his
favorite presidential candidate was a douchebag. Yes, I realize that I was
baiting him with my juvenile usage of the word douchebag, but for christsake
let me live a little!
&I hate him. The end.
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