My last paycheck had something totally awesome included... Under the regular hours there was a column that said 'other' and then a dollar amount that corresponded. 'Other' as it turns out is synonymous with 'summer bonus' in this instance. I have never ever worked a job in which you get a summer bonus! I like this working for a small company that is doing well thing. It's nice.

It almost makes up for the god-awful demanding parents who either a. forgot their kid/s need a monthly or yearly checkup and then get mad at me when i tell them that we are booked through most of july, yes... all three doctors (one doctor is booked through ALL of July so you can suck it-dickwad), and no, we do not have a stash of prime appointments for bad parents set aside. b. get mad at me when I tell them that their precious Hudson/Zoe/Marlena/Chloe/Timothy/Chasen/isnert-name-here can not have a camp form filled out unless they've had a physical in the past 12 months and I don't care that they haven't had one in 2 years, and again, we're booked through till precious is meant to LEAVE for camp and no there's nothing I can do about it. Oh, they can't go to the art farm this year? Whatever will they do? c. slowly explain to me about their going to their 'country houses' soon and that they need an appointment for whatever reason before they go ALL THE WAY out to Long Island because it's SO far away. and d. the stupid travel appointment-makers who have just realized that they are going to the jungles of Africa in 2 days and need to get a series of shots including the Yellow Fever vaccine. We can not help you for 3 reasons - one- the yellow fever vaccine needs to be in your system for 10 days before you go to a yellow-fever-infested place in order to be effective. two- the one doctor in the practice that does travel medicine is not in the office for the next two days and three- you're stupid.

Luckily I do not have to care about most of these people. If you are nice I will call you if we have a cancellation, if you are a cunt and demand I put your child at the top of the list for cancellations I will do as you ask and put his name on the list with three stars (seriously this woman asked me to put 3 stars next to his name). In this case the stars mean, never call this woman for anything she is an awful human being and that she can go fuck herself. She also called late in the season for his flu shot appt, and bitched me out on the phone when i was still new to the job for not being able to find him a suitable appt. Whatever, lady.

I'm allowed to tell my bosses (the doctors) that so-and-so's mom is CRAZY! and MEAN! and they may well agree with me. It's awesome.

I'll write more about the wackiness of downtown NYC parents soon, their AMEX black cards, and thousand dollar strollers, and the caretakers or nannies of the trilingual toddlers. It's an insane world, and these are some insane parents. And they have no idea I know who they are.

As it turns out, time flies when you're not miserable and bored and trolling the internet regularly for your entertainment. Weird, right? I know. I thought the same thing. But it must be true. I can't just make brash statements up and say they're true. Well, I guess I could, but whatever. For me time has flown these past 6 months.

I'm still content in my new job. It's way easy, the money's good, and hey, I get free medical advice whenever I need it. Yesterday I think I got the easiest and possibly largest raise I'd ever gotten in my history of employment. In passing I said to the doctor in charge of payroll, "Hey, do I really get a raise after 6 months?", which is apparently standard practice. He asked when that 6 month mark is. I told him when (April 5th) and he nodded and told me that beginning this pay period (the first after my anniversary) I'd be making an extra dollar an hour. I looked at him as if partly confused.

"What? I don't have to write an essay?" I asked. Now he was the confused one. I told him that at the Container Store you have to write short essays and fill out a five page booklet for your yearly review (if you're complacent enough to stay at a part time retail job that long) after which you discuss your inevitably too-poor performance and all of the areas you need to 'grow and challenge yourself' and the 'opportunities" you have. If you suck up and have no other life you may merit a 7-8% payraise. However you have to be TRULY exceptional to rate that. Most people fall within the 3-4% raise bracket, and I assure you 3-4% (and even 7-8%) of $10 an hour isn't enough to make the physical pain and emotional anguish of never being 'ON' enough for a part time job worth it. (Did I just disclose my starting salary at TCS. FOR SHAME! Doing such a thing was the one verboten thing in their culture [along with gum chewing, and saying or even thinking 'that is not my job'. Believe me, they know when you're thinking it. And you're wrong. It IS your job. Now get off the register and clean up the bathroom before tying that perfectly able-bodied woman's shoe in the gift packaging section])

Why did I stay at a job like that for years? See the previous brief mention about complacency and keep in mind that I have no real drive to do anything. So I was a perfect workhorse. Plus I have the protestant work ethic. I had to do something, I needed some money and I always think myself lucky to have any job. Also, reading over my 2006 performance review- damn, I could rephrase and reuse the accepted and desired terminology/vocabulary! It was money. It was a job. And somehow it was less soul-deadening than denying people health insurance (a previous gig for many years).

So anyway, the doctor looked at me and laughed. He said that no there was no essay portion of this conversation. There was no 'you should do x or y, or maybe x and y, and maybe we'll appreciate you more'. He looked at me, laughed about the idea of detailed essays regarding selling plastic boxes, and then said, "We're happy to have you.". Fer reals.

So I've been at my new job for almost two months now and I figure it's time to let the internets know how I'm doing. The quick answer is: MUCH BETTER. No, ferreals.

I feel like I work nowhere near as hard, and yet I am paid much better. I have more responsibility, and not that fake empowerment my previous job was so fond of bestowing upon people. They expect me to do the work of one person, and pay me well for it. They have also given me keys to the office, I am sometimes the last or first in there. I could steal computers, prescription pads, money and medical records if I wanted to. I mean, I don't... but I could.

I love working with Casey. We grew up across the street from each other in suburbia and now live about 10 blocks from each other in Brooklyn, and yet we rarely saw one another. Now we work together 4 days a week and I oddly miss her on the fifth. The doctors I work for are good, each has their own style and distinct needs. I feel I'm getting to understand the rhythm of the office and am learning to work around my hatred of phones and my bad hearing.

Things are going well. The little germ incubators (ie: the children who come to the office) have gotten me sick, but other than that, all is well. I love having my weekends again. Two days off in a row without haggling with anyone is an indulgent treat that I'm still not over. I love working in SoHo, though the office is nestled between an H&M and a Banana Republic, with Sephora, Anne Taylor and Uniqlo all within eye-shot so I don't think my credit cards will forgive me. Though the damage is nowhere near as bad as I imagine because I'm still not used to a real paycheck. It's taking me some time to adjust. I do not mean to imply that I am now rolling around in money, as I am not, I am just so unused to a full time job at a respectable wage that I am a bit in shock. I haven't been a part of the white-collar world in such a long time.

In other news, I'm half done with my Christmas shopping. I'm really just stuck on the in-laws. Speaking of which, Todd's mother will be spending Christmas with us. I'm excited and stressed at the same time. What has been good enough for my friends to sleep on suddenly seems woefully inadequate for a sweet special-ed teacher from Kentucky. I like to think I keep a tidy house, but now I'm concerned about dust and cat hair (two things I often overlook when it's just Todd and I). And her visit is so short, I worry about how we'll fit the tourist-y things in, as I'm sure her first time in NYC on the holidays she'll expect to see the tree at Rockefeller Center, even if she doesn't say as much. I mean... What else is Christmas in NYC?

Oh, before I forget or don't talk to you personally... Happy Thanksgiving, yo.

Just over three years ago I began working at the Container Store. It was a job, and I needed a job. It worked out well that way. I fell in love with a stapler that was sold in the office department, and despite getting a lovely 40% discount on purchases, I couldn't justify buying it, as I already had a perfectly serviceable stapler at home.

I knew I wasn't going to spend forever at my job. I knew it wasn't my calling, I wasn't going to make it my career. I considered attempting to 'go full time', the pay was alright- they offered benefits- and I had no other real calling in life. But that isn't enough to get a full time job there. They want your life, they want your soul. You have to eat, breathe, sleep and dream the store, products, and 'store philosophy'. I couldn't do it. I couldn't make myself jump through the required hoops, nor would I celebrate the rewarding challenge of selling an idea. Mostly because I didn't actually find it to be rewarding.

So that stapler, I knew it'd be the last thing I would ever buy at the store with my discount. I knew that I'd continue to wile away my days and bide my time until I figured out which direction I should move on to.

A few days ago a friend of mine who works at a doctor's office called to let me know that they might be hiring. I was standing in the middle of an apple orchard upstate when she rang. It was a gorgeous day. I was surrounded by family. There were apples and presents and my niece and I sat in the sunshine and shared our birthdays. I suspected I'd get a pair of plain gold hoop ear rings from my parents, as I'd gone beyond hinting and flatly asked for them. Instead I got gold clover shaped hoops and a matching necklace. It wasn't what I asked for, but they were lovely and sweet. Also, they are apparently Heidi Klum's lucky charm.

I scrambled to an interview on Monday morning before my regularly schedule shift at the store. I managed to pull myself together enough that I actually looked a little cute, mostly professional and of course, I wore the new-lucky jewelry. Monday night Lorna came to visit for a few days. While we were eating at Superfine in DUMBO on Tuesday I got the call. "I want you to give notice" he said. I'd give him a confirmed end date and we'd set a start date on Wednesday. Lorna and I took a water taxi, wandered the village, stopped in lovely shops, shared a cupcake at Magnolia bakery, picked up a few baubles at Marc Jacobs, and made our way over to the Container Store. It was time.

I thought I had a list of other things I wanted to buy, a last list of things to take advantage of my employee discount. But as I walked the aisles I realized that I just didn't want to waste my money on any more of that crap. I was ready. I picked out my stapler and waited on line. I made nice with my coworkers, paid for the shiny thing and flagged down the manager to give my notice.

It's silly the things you think about in the middle of major life changes. I'll miss the friends I made during my three years at the store. Some I grew very close to. Brian, Qincy, Brandon... I'm sad just thinking about it. I once had an awful temp job on a graveyard shift in an office somewhere on long island. I befriended a girl who told me straight up that she didn't want to make friends with people who weren't going to be in her life once she stopped working there. I don't remember her name. I remember the feeling of driving away from her house after dropping her off one morning thinking to myself that I'd never see her again.

I have my stapler and my memories. Thank you to my coworkers at the Container Store who kept me sane when everything else in the environment was leading me elsewhere. I'm already forgetting the 9 hour shifts, the insane overnights with a 1980s soundtrack, and the HOT teams. When I get to my new job tomorrow, I'll sit down for you all. That's right, SIT! on my ass! And get paid for it.

Here's my career thingie:
1. Website Designer


2. Desktop Publisher


3. Cartoonist / Comic Illustrator


4. Fashion Designer


5. Animator


6. Multimedia Developer


7. Costume Designer


8. Set Designer


9. Graphic Designer


10. Computer Animator


11. Artist


12. Communications Specialist


13. Critic


14. Market Research Analyst


15. Print Journalist


16. Writer


17. Translator


18. Medical Illustrator


19. Industrial Designer


20. Potter


21. Craftsperson


22. Public Relations Specialist


23. Political Aide


24. Activist


25. Public Policy Analyst


26. Interior Designer


27. Video Game Developer


28. Exhibit Designer


29. Webmaster


30. Psychologist


31. Special Effects Technician


32. Sport Psychology Consultant


33. Editor


34. Sign Maker


35. Computer Programmer


36. Adoption Counselor


37. Actor


38. Gunsmith


39. Gerontologist


40. Computer Network Specialist

Link: The what Proto-Goth Icon are you? Test written by anastasia_x on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test

Link: The Which Lolcat Are You? Test written by GumOtaku on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test

My trip to Kentucky and Florida is sneaking up on me. Todd and I leave on Monday the 23rd and return the following Monday. This leaves me with today and Saturday to pack and catproof the house. Sunday as previously mentioned, will be chock full of work related wonders which renders it completely useless to real life.

I'm starting to get that pre-travel anxiety. I don't know what I'll be doing while away, so how should I know what to pack? On my last trip I left a cool and damp NYC with a suitcase full of long sleeve shirts and light sweaters for layering only to arrive in KCMO to find that it was 80 and sunny. And I wore the same damned thing every day. I assume that going south will only bring me further into the delightful heat of summer. But am I going out? Do I need more than cropped pants and a tshirt? I know my parents like to spring fancy restaurants on us occasionally and there will be swimming for sure in Florida. But I hardly know Todd's mom and would like to impress her with my not slobbishness. She is a southern lady and always has earings that match her outfit. I wear the same silver pair with everything...


What I should be doing right now, instead of drinking coffee and fretting, is rooting through my closet and trying on outfits. Light, layered if needed, mix and match pieces that can work together, travel well, and are multi-functional. I have reason and sense... and I know how to pack in theory but something happens in practice. Like shopping for shoes. I'll go out looking for a pair of summer flats, maybe slides, and I'll walk home with a pair of MiuMiu platform slides with geisha curved soles, just to make walking more of a hazard for me.

Come on Lauren. Show some discipline. Get to work

It's absolutely terrible here right now. it's almost 10 am and it's dark and dreary. I was woken up by thunder. The storm is so close that my floors shake whenever the thunder crashes. The rain is pelting the skylight and it sounds tinny- like little pebbles hitting a car roof.

I'm sitting around in my underwear drinking iced coffee, my cats curled up asleep at my feet.

I have to go get ready for work and wish desperately I could call out sick. Hell, I should call out well. I'm too good to go to work today, sorry...

But I only work today, friday, and sunday before I go away for a week. And then I will be getting an awful paycheck, half of what middling amount I usually get. Thank god the paycheck isn't needed for me to survive.

Sunday I have a mandatory meeting. I'll leave here at 6:45 am, and won't get home from work till 10pm. I hate mandatory meeting days. The meeting is from 7:30 till like 9. And then I have 2 hours to kill between work and the end of it. Not enough to go home. Just enough to have brunch with some coworkers. Though if no alcohol is served, it's hardly brunch. It's glorified breakfast.

Tales from the retail world...

I was standing on a ladder, getting some extra product out of storage yesterday when I hear a whiny voice behind me say, "I'm cleaning you out". So I get down slowly, carefully, with arms full of glass product and ask, "Is that a question or a statement" as it was not clear if it was either. This guy's reply, "Yes". So I peer at him quizzically and ask if he wants me to check to see if we have more of a particular tupperware-like item he seemed to be talking about.

This was not the right thing to do apparently. This awful little man turned into a petulant little child and said, "I don't like you. Go away. Your'e not being nice to me. Usually everyone here is very nice to me". Man, we get all sorts at the store. Mostly the sort that NEED plastic boxes for EVERYTHING to fix all of their problems.... But, trying to not actually be a twat, I stepped back from the man- giving him physical space while worrying if I'd actually done something awful to him. He looked like he was angry enough to cry. I apologized and asked if he'd like me to find someone else to work with him, (figured if everyone else is nice to mr.pansyass than maybe someone else could right my terrible wrongs). His reply as he pushed his cart away from me was that he was going to shop somewhere else.

Good riddance. Dick.

Picture this: It's 10:45 am on a weekday. You're standing on a subway platform. You got there by taking the local train, one of the only two trains that are scheduled to stop there. The platform has local on one side and express on the other. You decide to transfer to the express, so you walk to that side and stand amid steel columns that have service change notices plastered to them for as far as the eye can see. You wait. You wait some more. Another local train pulls up and you still continue to wait. The local is going to the same place as the express, it's just making more stops.

How long do you wait before you decide to either A. read the service change notices or B. just say fuckit! and hop back on the next local?

The other day I arrived just in time to see a local pull away from the station. I camped out in my regular spot to wait for the next train. The service change notices have been there since April, and according to the signs- will remain there till August something. The signs tell me that there is no express trains at that station weekdays between 10am and 4pm. Take the local two stops where the express will meet up with the line and change there if you want express service. I did not bother to read the signs that day because dude, I've been reading them out of boredom for months now and hey, I'm literate.

This BayRidge babe- all hair and nails and spray on tan was there when I got there. Angry, cursing, stomping around in her high heels and snapping her gum with fury. She kept leaning over the side of the platform, craning her neck hoping to see the light from the express train in the tunnel heading her way. I know she's ignored the last local train. She continues to pace when finally about 7 minutes after I got there she let's out an audible, "Shit!" which somehow sounded different than her general expletives. From across the platform she looks at me and asks, "You read this?" a Lee-Press-On nail waggling one of the many signs.

Over the top of my Nintendo DS I looked at her and quietly answered, "Yah, they've been hanging there since April."

"You mean we've been waiting here for nothing? I have a graduation to go to! Fuck!"

Bitch lumped me with herself. I was waiting for the lcoal. I can read. I DO read. I am obviously not nice or I'd have informed her that there is no express service. But If I informed every person who leaned against the signs instead of reading them that they're waiting for nothing, I'd be too busy to get on the next local train that arrived.

Retail might not be the best career choice for me. I know, shocking, but there you have it. I get more indignant and surly each day that I have to deal with needy assheads...

To the people who insist on keeping all of their paper-money crumpled in little balls and wadded in their pockets... Get a fucking wallet already, you're adults. Act like it.

To the shoppers who wander like zombies on their cell phones- You are not in private, you are not alone... You are in public and if you want to finish your conversation without interruption perhaps you should at the very least step aside and not get on a register line (where you will have to interact with the cashier in some way). I can NOT ask for your money later, you came TO ME. You got on line. You are at a register, there are people behind you, waiting, NOT ON THE PHONE, willing to go through the motions of civility. You are being rude. You are awful and I rather hate you.

To the girl who wore low-rise-Juicy sweatpants who asked her friend if she should take a shower. Yes, you should. Your hair looks stringy and gross and by the way, I saw your pubic hair.... If you're going to subject the world at large to such a thing, the very least you could do is be freshly washed.

So I have a friend from work. A lovely friend who lives in a great apartment in Park Slope. She's moving soon and her great apartment in a fantastic neighborhood is up for grabs, and it's feasible that Todd and I could afford it. We were looking at smaller apartments in much worse neighborhoods just a few months ago that cost just as much as what my friend is currently paying for her place. And to top it off we were seriously considering them.

Now the apartment is smaller than my current one by about 100 square feet. Truthfully though, we don't use that 100 that would be missing. There is a second bedroom that we could easily fit our monster desks into and there are closets galore and oh, did I mention the dishwasher? Oh yes.... a dish! washer! There are bay windows in the bedroom along with exposed brick and his and hers closets. And well, it could be lovely. There aren't any beautiful details like we have here, the moldings are functional at best and there is no carved woodwork nor wedding-cake-medallions on the ceiling. But still, a good apartment in a great neighborhood a stones throw from places I'd actually want to go. It's a fourth floor walk-up, but again at least there's no one above us stomping around.

Is it worth it to move one floor up and 50 blocks over? Is it worth it to pay another 400 a month (at least)? I am lazy, I like our building, our neighbors, our moldings and space. I like not moving. Especially after that dramatic couple of months when we were living on the edge of having to move, but never knowing for sure.

Would moving to a new, "better" neighborhood change my lifestyle. Currently I do not go out often. We rarely go out to eat or for drinks. We don't even go out for coffee. There are very few places within walking distance to do so. We could continue on here, making our own coffee and making special trips to go out- or to get food we actually want to eat (Sunset Park is known for it's awful supermarkets). But would moving to Park Slope and paying more mean we'd be surrounded with things we couldn't afford to do? Do I not go out because there's no where to go, or because I choose not to?

I like to think that by taking my friend's apartment I'd be a new person. I'd take my laptop to the community garden a block away and write and surf the net using the free wi-fi from the cafe next door. I might take yoga classes or finally learn to knit (moving miraculously graces one with the ability to knit, no?). That thirty minutes a day I'd shave off my commute would really open up endless possibilities for new hobbies and new adventures. I fear that by moving there the shopping would end and money would be tight and packing would be a bitch. Also I worry that I'll regret leaving this apartment, which is silly since we rent and we will eventually leave this temporary home.

What to do? What to do?

I can't remember how old I was, but I know I was early on in elementary school when a teacher read "The Happy Prince" to the class. Maybe this is my imagination. Maybe there was a slightly more child-friendly version made into a cartoon that I saw at an impressionable age? I can't remember exactly how or where I heard this story now. I can only recall vague memories of a statue that gave it's all to a town that didn't love it back, a bird, and a heart that wouldn't melt. I had no idea what the name of the story was, and though I never looked into it, I figured I'd never really know. This morning I had some extra time before work so I did some googling and found out it was an Oscar Wilde story called "The Happy Prince". I find it strange that I would have had an Oscar Wilde experience so very early in my life. I place this story right along side Shel Silverstein's "The Giving Tree" in the pantheon of stories that broke my little heart.


* Further googling tells me that there was a cartoon version made, in fact, in 1974. Which definitely means it's around the right time to be shown to kid in elementary school in the mid-late 70s. I somehow doubt highly that any one of my teachers would have read me an Oscar Wilde story. Who knows though, maybe they did?

taken at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, Saturday April 21st.
more photos from the Garden here.

I hopped on the gmail train early enough to land my actual name as an email address. No annoying jumble of letters or alternate spellings needed! The only problem with this is that there are other people with my name, yes first and last... other people who must think they have my email address, but just don't. I've corresponded with one in particular whom was a regular and frequent offender- informed her that she's not me and she should stop giving out my address to old school chums and work contacts. I still occasionally get misdirected emails meant for her, the odd alumni newsletter or old friend looking to re-establish contact, but they are fewer and farther between than they once were.

Yet others still come. The random lifeline into the ether, the S.O.S with no real hope of a reply. Just last week I got a forwarded bunch of emails from an Irishman who broke the heart of another Lauren in a real estate office somewhere halfway across the world. I read with mild embarassment about tears shed and insecurities shared. I smiled at their nicknames and silently wished them both the best. I haven't replied or forwarded or erased this email (that's really a series of letters). I can't shake the voyeuristic urge to read through it nor the archival instinct to save it as if they are my own old love letters.

And then today I got another misdirected email from a Melinda Simonds that read:
Lauren,
Doing my Jan. report...what were your hours last month please?

Bored, I replied:
100 million!
pay now!
or the puppy gets it.

What would it be like to be that Lauren in an office in Ohio who forgot to mail billable hours to her coworker Melinda? Or the one crying at her desk somewhere in Ireland over a guy who goes by the name Paddy? When mired in one's own plodding existance it's sometimes nice to peek into the world of someone else. A complete stranger to you but who shares your name.

All of that said, I'm doing fine here in Brooklyn. We passed on that co-op in Crown Heights and have effectively stopped looking to move after our landlord got all freaked out about us leaving. He wants us to stay and is ready to give us incentives to remain. After seeing a dozen places I want to stay now more than ever. I can read the real estate listing on our current place in my mind, and phrases like 'sun drenched', 'original details', and 'spacious' all compete with the notion of not actually having to pack and unpack everything we own for reasons to stay.

Oh and I got my first paycheck from ShojoBeat. The photos I took are in the current issue on newstands now. They accompany Jennifer Hess' cooking/food column.

i'm not certain i'm prepared to put into words the wonderfulness that is getting married (though i go back to work tomorrow, so i assume i'd better get some semblance of a story together to start reciting every 30 minutes when asked)...

photographic evidence of the event can be found here. my thanks go out to the dietschy-blossoms for making with the photo-fu.

and look, i got flowers after all!

dinner with his dad went well, with only a few mishaps along the way.

the house is clean. super clean, even.

now it leaves me with the somewhat spontaneous baking, for which i have to do a bit of grocery shopping still. along with the meeting my mother-in-law for the first time, and playing tour-guide for her as she does the sight-seeing thing.

i still have to write out the place cards, and i'd like to pick up a bunch of fresh flowers at the greenmarket on saturday morning. but i still have to do my nails, and honestly, i am betting that doing my nails on saturday morning is going to win out over running off to the greenmarket and spending 1.5 hours in transit just for some flowers. sure they'd be the flowers, but eeeesh... i'm lazy,surprise?!

and oh yeah, there's that wedding thing on saturday.
right.

maybe i can find flowers conveniently on the way to my wedding?

heh.
maybe.

yeah, so i promised i'd make up for the quiet sometime soon... over a month ago. and here i am... still with shhhh!

check out my vox account.
http://venusinfurs.vox.com/

i'm just like everyone else...

the above was taken in october 2004 with my crappy cameraphone. the door's on 666 6th ave.

i know i've been quiet lately, but i'll make up for it soon, i promise.

also, i'm considering a website overhaul- my primary site venusinfurs.org went taken down a while ago because it was getting so much spam that it was slowing down the webserver in bad bad ways. what are the best ways to avoid that? anyone know? the version of movable type i had on there wouldn't let me go through history posts in a batch format in order to turn off all coments, and my god, there were YEARS AND YEARS worth of posts that i'd have to manually edit... and let's face it... i'm lazy.

sigh.
i had MTBlacklist going, but it was not the most affective, and uh, well, it was like pissing in the wind.