the difficult

Here's one tale (of many) about what it's like to work for a loony old bat who thinks she's far more important than she is.

One of the more interesting aspects of being unemployed and desperate is that you'll take pretty much any opportunity that comes along, so that food continues to make its way into the fridge without resorting to theft. One such opportunity rolled into my path about two days before I exited my place of former employment. Due to a random connection, I was put in touch with a wealthy older woman, who needed some computer help and personal assistance, a few days a week. Since my schedule had suddenly become way too wide open, I readily accepted, even with the warning of a "difficult" personality.

That was the understatement of the fucking century.

Come to find out, around the office which had put me in touch with my new, schizophrenic employer, the joke was that I would inherit her 60 million dollars, because even her own kids and grand kids couldn't stand her. I thought that surely, that was some kind of exaggerated joke. Having dealt with an insanely large number of difficult and obnoxious people in my life, I have found that even with the worst personalities, many of them are "crackable" because even with their caustic exterior, I am able to pick up on the issue behind such defense mechanisms and have thus been able to understand and develop solid relationships. In short, traditionally, I get along famously with the people that no one else gets along with.

Bear in mind that if at any point a person crosses the line and purposely offends me, I do not push over. I will stick up for myself and expect to be treated with respect by people I deal with, because I, in turn, will always make the greatest effort to be respectful myself. This open understanding I think, has contributed to my success in the "tough personality" arena.

With this woman however, the rules were changed without my knowledge and the amazing amount of bullshit to which I was subjected on a daily basis was nothing short of mind-boggling. I had NO idea that a person could and would intentionally behave like such a fucking crazy, illogical asshole and expect to get away with it. I mean it. She legitimately expected that when she spat the insults at her intended receiver, that her demands would be hopped to and granted with a smile and an apology. I was slack-jawed on day one as I watched her conduct some simple business on the phone.

A funny aside here, is that this phone transaction was in reference to some christmas gifts she was shipping out to random friends and relatives. The gift, was a nifty little wine refrigerator and when all of the refrigerators were totalled, this one gift (of many) could have paid my rent. Fascinating.

So the quick set up to the phone story. There was only one kind of fridge that she wanted to send and since it was less than a week before christmas (not to mention that she wanted 9 to ship out), all 7 companies we tried only had them on back order, meaning that the gifts would be getting to their intended recipients around or after the first of the year. Once it became clear that this was unavoidable, she gave in and had me order them to arrive late, but with a cute little card attached to each.

Ah, but alas, she had forgotten that she had already ordered several wine fridges from yet another vendor. Lovely. So when the news came in that a couple of them had already been delivered, this understandably caused quite a row. This event also caused an amnesiatic fit with regard to why none in the order which I had placed had gone out. I'll give you a hint on her reasoning...it was clearly my incompetence. But, to my joy and wonder, I was not alone in this one.

When the phone was ripped from my hands in mid-sentence, I was absolutely amazed to hear her (on speaker) berate the poor, incredibly accommodating person on the other end as a "double talker", a "shameless liar" and a "simple vendor' when she was told, for the 9th time, that the refrigerators were indeed, still on back order and not due to ship for several days. No change in the message, whatsoever.

Apparently, when senility sets in, logical ordering times and physical inventory shortcomings, are nothing but an obstacle that yelling and abuse will fix. After a good 2 days of price haggling, shipping changes and malevolence, on her part, she cancelled the order, threatened to sue if the credit card was charged and slammed the phone back into it's cradle. I sat motionless and speechless, waiting for the secret trap door to open and dump me into a pit of hungry crocodiles.

It was then that the answer to the "where do you get off?" question materialized in my mind. There is no retort to that quesiton, because when you have an ingrained sense of entitlement, you simply don't need to answer that question. With all of these ethical, straightforward people I have been dealing with lately, I'm considering jumping the snake pit and trying out this whole rude, irrational, douchebag thing. I might be making millions in no time.

oooh, shiny

I am the master of mulled wine. This has nothing to do with my commentary for the evening, but I thought I'd announce my new found supremacy in that area.

The answer to the question on everyone's mind is: yes, we are that stupid. We, the public - and lets face it, we are all unwittingly a part of the public - are so easily duped by the ads and nonsense we read and see, that it works on us. We buy what they tell us to, simply because they say it's great. The machine of advertising masterminds, spits out carefully crafted claims that stop just shy of legal issues, in an effort to get us, the mindless public to make our choices by trial and error and spontaneous, illogical desire.

How many times do you change shampoos or styling products, simply because something new and improved is on the shelf, or has a better looking bottle? How many different deodorants, soaps, makeups, face washes and other random products do you go through in a year, because you "have to try that" and there really is no compelling reason - outside of simply not needing it - not to? I have taken an inward gander at this and I'm fairly disgusted, though I don't think it will make me change much.

The ads have us convinced: we can't live without these items. These items are doing us a favor, simply by existing and it's up to us to run on out and purchase them in order to validate our sorry asses. An example you ask? Well allrighty then. There's this stupid, fucking Citibank ad that has been playing for weeks and weeks.

See there's this rag-tag kid, with the cute smile and the disheveled hair and he's obviously been away at college, not honing his sharp dressing skills and he's got to find something for his mother for christmas. So there he is, wandering aimlessly around the department store, checking out chotchkies and agonizing over the gift. Then suddenly, as if by divine intervention, he gets himself a suit with his...(insert dramatic music here) Citibank credit card! He shows up at the family dinner and melts his mother with his present for her, which is really an outfit for him and the world goes on just as it should. Were it not for that credit card, he never would have been able to come up with that idea and make that o' so difficult decision. Whew! Thank god for credit cards that have a sense of gifting.

The saddest part to all that, is that I have a friend who is the person to whom all of those ads are targeted. Fortunately for her, she will openly admit it, but it doesn't stop her from purchasing the shiniest, prettiest box of whatever simply because it says "better" or "new and improved". My favorite is "30% less sugar!" Thirty percent less sugar than what? A bowl of actual sugar? Anything that says it's good on the package, is a guaranteed sale for her; like the shoddier products would have some sort of fine print saying "this actually sucks."

In fact, it's almost like "New and Improved" are actual people. They are the ghosts dancing in the aisles, tickling your ears and eyes, clandestinely pointing you to the bottle or box that is just a few dollars more, thus sucking the life out of your wallet, dollar, by slowly bleeding dollar.

But the big wheel keeps on turnin' and the shiny will never get old. Next week, "New and Improved" will talk me into yet another round of products I already have and my shower will continue to be full of more shampoo and conditioner than one person needs in a year. Look at it this way though, the economy is in a perilous state; it's our job to keep at least someones business booming. New and Improved said so.

merry ex-mass

Ah yes....another annoying holiday season is almost to the door. I've survived and am only a couple pounds heavier for the wear, so it's all good.

I'm forced to wonder though, what are the ingredients for a successful christmas celebration? In the decade since I stopped torturing myself with my own family, I've been to a number of christmas events, hosted by the families of different friends. I am so honored and flattered that they invite me into their lives and into their houses, that even though I feel a bit like an interloper, it's like entree into the world of the normal, where people love each other and treat each other well and make each other genuinely happy.

However, I must note that I have only been to a few events out of those 10 years, where someone did not have a fit or a problem about something, which stressed everyone out and that had to be smoothed over. I guess that's the way it goes when you put a bunch of relatives who are all tired and overfed in a room together for many hours on end. But those episodes are always short-lived and well-handled and in the end, everyone comes around and the love and happiness conquer and abound.

What is that like? I truly wonder if I will ever be able to legitimately build that situation and have a family to toast over a large table full of food. Will I find the life where being together with a person or people I love will be a logical request, no matter who else is at the table? I say that not in the "woe is me" sense, but in the "if it's never been there before, will it really ever" sense. Because if you've never really had it that way, or at least not in the last 20 years, it almost seems like a strange desire. I don't want these days to be sad and difficult forever, it's way too much of a pain in the ass for that.

All that aside, I do genuinely wish everyone and anyone a joyful day and happy memories and a safe and satisfied slumber. Merry xmas.

i know about these things.

Wealth is a great thing. It comes in many different forms and generally means that one is doing well and has an abundance of positivity in some area. However, monetary wealth seems to have a few different behavioral paths associated with it, one of which I have chosen to detail.

I know many "rich" people. Strange that even with all of the rich folks who have befriended me in my life, I'm still broke as fuck, but that's neither here nor there. Now, this is in no way aimed at my wealthy friends, because by virtue of them being my friends, I obviously don't find the unsavory behavior in them.

That said, I have observed that with extreme wealth comes extreme "wisdom" and "knowledge", which seem to spring forth abundantly from the dollar bills in which these lucky millionaires bathe. Every time a dollar is spent, a new wrinkle appears in the rich person's brain. It's an amazing phenomenon and with all of this accrued wisdom, the rich person is both able and willing to spread his or her knowledge around for the rest of the lesser world to digest.

Now I must digress for a moment and note that wealth does provide the rich with access to places and experiences that the poor or non-rich will probably never have. The finer things are the norm for these people and they have the ability to travel and spend as the rest of us will never be able to do. It's envious, but most of us don't seem to be any worse for it so personally, I don't care. But this does mean that the rich may have some above-board knowledge on things such as which is the best pate, which champagnes and wines are the finest, and what thread count feels the most comfy to sleep on each night.

I would also be remiss however, if I didn't point out that the rich person misses out on many things that the rest of the world is totally familiar with. They are so busy being clean and untouchable, that the wonders of the real world, often tends to pass them by, as do the bulk of people skills, obtained by going through life in a world where money does not solve any and all problems.

We, the non-rich, know about things such as hole-in-the-wall restaurants, fixing plumbing crises ourselves and waiting for long periods of time on the phone or in person to resolve shopping or customer service issues. Due to these activities, the non-rich person develops a strange skill called patience. This is not to say that the non-wealthy person exhibits this at all times. Nor is it meant to claim that rational behavior comes only from those without access to Van Cleef & Arpels or Hermes.

One cannot help but notice that the higher the tax bracket, the shorter the fuse and when the fuse is lit, it's only a matter of moments until our rich subject explodes upon the world and claims absolution by virtue of that mysterious aforementioned "knowledge", gained by a life of wealth and leisure. It causes this person to utter such phrases as "Don't contest me on this, I know about these things," when involved in conversations on subjects which require no such assertion. But you know, this first little mention is only a drop in the bucket pulled up from the well o' dollars. More to come for sure.

relevance

Some things come along right when you need to read them. Interesting little messages wrapped up in fiction, just waiting for you to rip them open and apply them to your own, complex existence. Here is one such passage.


Such is the future you are capable of winning. It requires a struggle; so does any human value. All life is a purposeful struggle and your only choice is the choice of a goal. Do you wish to continue the battle of your present or do you wish to fight for my world? Do you wish to continue a struggle that consists of clinging to precarious ledges in a sliding descent to the abyss, a struggle where the hardships you endure are irreversible and the victories you win bring you closer to destruction? Or do you wish to undertake a struggle that consists of rising from ledge to ledge in a steady ascent to the top, a struggle where the hardships are investments in your future and the victories bring you irreversibly closer to the world of your moral ideal, and should you die without reaching the full sunlight, you will die on a level touched by its rays? Such is the choice before you. Let your mind and your love of existence decide.

sunrise skin

In my merry adventures on the coast of cold and humidity, I have come across yet another fascinating peculiarity on which I absolutely must comment. I do not intend to offend any of the normal people on this coast with this observation, but perhaps the normals will allow me to articulate what fascinates and irritates us all.

I should point out that as I type, there is an ice storm outside. That's right friends, tiny pellets of ice are raining down from the sky, dusting the streets, cars and awnings of New York with a slippery, frozen layer. So that noted, I can now comment on how I have come across several people in the last month or so in the Northeast, who seem to have the wonderful fortune of maintaining a sun-kissed glow, long after the warming rays stopped springing from our favorite ball of fire.

I hail from the Golden State, where even if one is "pale", he or she still maintains a tan better than most from pretty much any other area of the country would have druing the summer. This is simply because of the climate and the fact that most outside activities can be performed on a year-round basis. Because of this lucky exposure, I know what the year-round tan looks like. Let me be the first to illuminate the masses: orange is not tan. Orange is orange.

The average man and woman have skin that undergoes changes throughout the year. Even if one does not worship the sun, there are changes which occur when the melanin in the skin is activated and produces a tan during the spring and summer months. After this time however, when the sun retreats to it's perches high in the sky, the skin begins to fade to a more blanched version of its summer, titian glory. This is the natural order of pigment, and rightly so.

But you see, the non-sun tanner never goes through that horrifying loss. The indoor tanner has that fabulous, I-just-got-back-from-Santorini look indefinitely. To boot, the sunless tanner is absolutely convinced that his tan looks real. As if the 1982 Chevelle-driving, Pizzeria-working, high school dropout has really spent 2 weeks sunning in Martinique. Come now.

Tangerine is nowhere on the spectrum of acceptable colors for human skin. Nowhere, in any part of the world will you find someone of any ethnicity to whom orange is a natural shade. Also nowhere, will you find a large culture of people to whom skin resembling leather, is actually considered attractive; a sad byproduct of overexposure to unnatural, drying UV prolific bulbs.

So why? Why pretend, o broke, pallid Long Islander, that you are the lucky phenom, to whom the apricot glow is the natural order? You not only fool no one, but you look the fool all the while. Did I mention it's December?

ooohhh ma cherie....

Being a total fan of the really awful, yet startlingly amusing bad accent, I must post this for your enjoyment. See, when I lived in Paris, many moons ago, my friend and I found that when we spoke in our regular American accents, people had a very difficult time understanding what we were saying. However, when we spoke in our "mauvais francais" accents, things were ship shape.

The mauvais francais accent is nothing more than a really bad mix of Pepe LePeu and every french person I've ever heard speak english in my life. Goes over like a charm. And with that, I present to you some really bad accents, which automatically make this 10 times funnier than it would be in regular, cheesy english.

THIS is effing hysterically funny.

shooting

I'm seething malice. It's sharply directed at a barrel chested, blonde, bumbling bastard who seems to be capable of only one thing: fucking up other people's lives. In fact, said bastard seems to actually take pleasure in the "shooting" of others.

See, this person is, regrettably, in charge (and I use that term soooo loosely) of a large number of hardworking people. He doesn't actually concern himself with their hiring, nor does he stoop to learn anything of their daily dealings. He is simply there to bellow out Board-massaging one-liners and "shoot" people, when they become a budgetary strain, according to him. How he fleeced his way into this position, I will probably never know, but he is there.

In my former line of work, there was occasionally a time when it became necessary to "wait out" a senior member of an organization, in order to get a deal done and thus secure a large sum of money for the company. This meant that said senior executive was an entry barrier, in and of himself, and had stalled any forward progress, for one reason or another. This is an intensely annoying part of that line of work, but one that was sometimes unavoidable.

I have found that the senior executive referenced in paragraph one is not only such a person, but being that he is in a position of high authority, is un-circumventable in any way. I can only imagine the number of lives he has disrupted and agitated during his tenure. He is the kind of person one must wait out in order to progress in that company in any real way. But not only is he an anchor to the progress of many people there, he bears a likeness to molasses in winter when it comes to actual forward progress of the company as a whole as well.

Business stratgegy? Pashaw. We don't need no stinking business strategy. We are ahead of the pack and it matters not that it's by a margin thinner than a strand of the fine silk from which his boxers are woven. Things are booming for upper management. Stock options, heavy bonuses, everything's coming up roses, so why bother with a plan, when we can all go out drinking at lunchtime and get $90 trims at the barber during our mid-afternoon errand run? A business plan......silly fuckers.

As is plainly evident, I have no shame whatsoever in loathing this man. In fact, once I am at a comfortable distance, I am tempted to call him up and tell him so. Because good people who do stupid shit, get a pass with me. But bad people who are just assholes, well you get nothing but malice from this girl; and you really have to try hard to get on that side of me. So I wish on him unpleasant holidays and rusty shower water that gives his face a rash, and bee stings on his balls, the next time he goes on yet another unearned vacation. Yeah, that'll show him.

fuhgivenass

It's an interesting place to be, when in a position to need or want the forgiveness of another person. Because most people, in my experience, have messed themselves up because of an err in the method of their message. Most people are not out to hurt another, but for a moment in time, they lack the skills to convey legitimate frustration and thus spout off, hurting the recipient of the message and losing the point in the process.

There are also, of course, those who hurt other people with lies and deceit, which is a little more empirical on the right / wrong scale. But given some time, honesty and contrition, those wounds are healable, if the person on the receiving end of those mistakes has forgiveness in them. Either way, a true committment to the relationship shared between the two parties becomes the glue for piecing things back together.

No matter what the circumstance, it's the one who is in position to grant or deny, who has the greatest burden, I think. Whether it be with friends, co-workers or significant others, the person with the so-called upper hand, actually has the more difficult position. To really let someone back into ones graces is to admit a part in the problem and requires putting in as much work as the offender, in order to make things right. Getting to that position takes some serious introspection and most importantly, a strong, honest look at what has driven the problem.

This is not to ignore the duty of the infractor. When having wronged, it's not enough to simply say "I'm sorry." Anyone can say that. Acknowledging what one has done to hurt another person is also a painful process and it requires walking into the apology with no guarantees. But a sincere apology, still means that the person afflicted may not forgive. It means that you may not have again, what you have given up by way of your mistake.

So I guess that's all that's left. An apology served up on a broken heart and seasoned with resignation and a tiny dash of hope. Who knows, maybe it'll work.....

robotica

New York is a city that is constantly bustling. It is bustling with creativity, with information, with opportunity and individuality. It is a place where pretty much anyone from anywhere can come and with some drive, get what they want out of their lives and the city.

This would presuppose that this place is rife with free thinkers and original people, but I'm here to tell you about a sick little subculture that is present in the monde du cube. There are robots among us, people.

The robot's day and mood are usually determined by the start time. Start time 10am = jovial, affable robot, complete with catch phrases and motivational bullshit, usually spewed out over the cubes, as the minions duck and cover to avoid the putrescence. Conversely, start time at 8am = robot mood, foul and disagreeable, with a possible perky window around 11am, after 2 cups of coffee and a mid-morning zone out session behind the closed, frosted glass doors of the office. After that, however, there are no guarantees and the robot in question will most likely go home at around 3:30 due to extreme fatigue and irritation.

See, robot's don't collect information, analyze and interpret it and then output something new. Robots are programmed; robot's just do. And when in the business of wandering the halls of a seemingly well-established, successful company, the robot must regurgitate the proper responses and utter the appropriate motivational bullshit, in order to keep up appearances and keep the wheels turning, so that he may secure his annual $500k cog greasing. Because we all know that the best robots live in Westchester county and count C list celebrities among their neighbors. Were they not to properly posture in the workplace, said robots may be out on their mechanical asses, wandering the streets with the tourists, or worse.....their underlings. O my.

But there comes a time in every cube-worker's life, where the office environment seems to be polluted with working with robots who seem not only to be completely programmed, but to be almost brazen about their contribution to the workforce and the company you have in common. It becomes infuriating when, in the interest of stock options and year end bonuses, the robots begin to cut off their very own arms, in order to save their rotting cores. And that is where I come in.

I and those like me, seethe resent and disdain on a daily basis. Strangely, this does not negatively effect our work, though we secretly dream about showing up on the robot's doorstep with a bottle of bleach and deer feed to adequately convey our message of resentment. Were it even mildly appropriate, we would trample down the hallways of our establishment and say the three words which would have virtually no effect on the world, but which would make us all sleep better, if only for that day: fuck right off.

But if they, the robots of the corporate world, are already hard-wired to be full of shit, does this mean that we can't change the operating system to run programs like, good manager and respectable boss? Sadly, there are those people who exist and even work among the ranks of the robot class. They are overridden and squashed by the metallic clutches of their counterparts, thus rendering their thoughts, ideas and efforts useless. Best to just get the fuck out of dodge and find a safe haven where the robots are curbed by the real people, and where their destructive and bullshit laden agendas are incapacitated by actual human ideas and progress.

Can they multiply if we stifle them?

live without

There are things I could totally do without.

I could do without people who obstruct public passageways. I could do without superiors who don't work very hard, yet harp on the rest of their minions for not making them look good at board meetings. I could do without unnecessary strife in my relationships, and I could do without my asthma on long runs.

But even the things I could do with, seem to have a hidden "I could do without" clause attached to them somewhere. Thoughts like that have been all too pervasive in my thought process lately. It's so easy to hear in my head and so easy to look at it from that perspective, but I've become disgusted by it, because that's not who I am. I am not a "half empty" kind of girl.

I'm finding that there is a level of spite and jealousy that rears when those thoughts and phrases come to mind. As if all of the successful people of the world did nothing to earn it. I've washed myself of these sentiments, because they simply don't reflect my true opinions, even if they poke into my thoughts every now and then. This nonsense was most recently brought to my attention by a caustic homeless man, sitting on 45th St. with a sign detailing his hunger and poverty, the other day. He barked at my co-worker and I as we walked to the deli for breakfast, even trying to reference a part of our conversation, on which he had eavesdropped. Apparently, poverty has not yet affected his bionic aural skills. We ignored him and I went on to purchase my usual hazelnut coffee and egg whites and tomato on a baily. The total price tag for this extravagant meal was $4.24.

Upon exiting and walking back to the office, the homeless man in question, who incidentally, didn't look like he'd skipped any meals in his life, snapped out another series of insults, at which time, I became incensed and stopped in my tracks. Now, I realize that this probably didn't have any effect on him other than to fill his hatred coffer even further, but I simply told him that I worked my ass off for my $4.24 morsels and to go fuck himself. Then I forgot about him and realized, it was true. I do work my ass off for that breakfast, and every other breakfast I've ever purchased for myself.

That annoying fuck actually did me a favor in that moment because I realized that for the last several months, I've been looking at everything I need and don't have, instead of the things that are good and hard-fought, that I do have. I'm more broke, in terms of disposable income, than I've ever been since I was probably 11 years old, when I became the town babysitter in order to afford a social life. I rarely go out right now and there are many, many things which I "need" in the athletic or home-organization senses, that annoy me because I don't have them. I will not die without new running shoes or more shelves.

But what I do have, and to which I've failed to give due credit, are drive and work ethic and a pretty decent network of fantastic people who care about me and want to see me succeed. And I do have the ability and wherewithal to make changes in my life and to climb higher and do better than I've ever done before, given some smart and strategic decision making skills, which I also possess. So really, the changes are up to me and it's just a matter of taking inventory of what's good and using it as a platform to work toward what's better. I'd say skills are better than stuff anyday, because without skills, you can only be given stuff and there's no dignity in constantly groping for charity.

So I'm back to the mantra I've adopted since pre-pubescence: If you want something, you have to go out and work for it. There is no such thing as success by waiting. I can live with that.

recovery

It's been a couple of days and I think I'm ready to talk about my self-inflicted, extremely painful hangover. We've all been there haven't we? It starts out so innocently. A work sponsored drinking function, gone totally awry when the champagne, the shots and the shitty, inedible food refuse to mix.

See the problem is, during a different time in my life, I went out drinking quite a bit more than I do now. I was also younger, obviously, and had a constitution such that I could drink whatever I wanted in large quantities and you couldn't have taken me out with a dozen mack trucks. I'm not bragging here, that's just how it was. But those days were a long time ago, and my drinking frequency has dropped off by about 80% since then. This presents a problem when I decide I'm going to drink in a non-strategic way, now. These days, I have to adhere to a couple of strict formulas in order to avoid the wretched hangovers and stress of lost property.

Generally, before I even leave the house, I lay out a cocktail of vitamins for when I come back. I've done careful research and the formula for replenishing lost nutrients and avoiding a hangover works well, provided I get a halfway decent amount of sleep. I also am careful to stick to one type of alcohol for the night, which also helps, due to my ripening age and liver. Lastly, in times of stress, when I really feel like I need a drink, I will budget myself and take only the cash I can spend on drinks. These nights I will also not take a credit card, so that I can avoid any open tab trouble. Seems like a good plan, right?

So here's what happens when I go out with work people, on a stomach that has been empty for upwards of 10 hours and the food we are to consume is disgusting. We start with a glass of wine, which incidentally, is the only thing in the restaurant that was any good. The wine is tasty and the first glass gives me a happy little buzz, due to my empty stomach. The menu looks tasty, so we all make our selections, eagerly anticipating a delectable experience. When the food arrives, however, we realize that this nights meal will fall far short of even the most forgiving expectations.

During this time, the bottomless wine continued to come; a clever ploy by the restaurant to make us think we are actually dining well, I assume. My glass never saw emptiness, so I had no idea exactly how much wine I had consumed. This was compounded by the fact that my water glass was empty for most of the night. Flash forward about 2 hours and a collection of my comrades and I head out to a friendly watering hole, frequented by one of us.

This is the part where it all starts to go wrong.

We merrily downed pints and glasses, talk story and told our tales of woe about our workplace and the booming knuckleheads to which we are subjected. Time passed and people started to think about the impending workday and with well-timed yawns, they exited the bar. But not me. Noooo, not me. I had made friends with strangers. Nice people of whom I now have zero recollection. Apparently, I was witty and clever (no surprise there) and kept the group laughing, long after my last co-worker had made his exhausted exit.

And then, for reasons I still cannot fathom, I simply walked out of the bar. No explanation, no looking back. In 34 degree weather, I walked out, sans coat, purse, keys and wallet and began to drunkenly meander my way back home. I did have some phone contact during this time, which was understandably the most frustrating and annoying experience of the other person's year. I trudged over a mile and a half home, in the freezing cold, only to realize that when I came upon my apartment, I had no way in. And so there I sat, for another 30 minutes, buzzing the super over and over and over, determined to wake him from his restful sleep and drag him into my miserable state, so that I could get into my apartment to pass out. And pass out, I did.

I awoke the next morning bright and somewhat chipper. I was on time for work and just fine through the morning as my co-workers streamed past me, throwing mocking, knowing glances in my direction. I was even coherent enough to have a sensitive discussion with a high level executive at a venture capital firm. So proud of me, was I. But then, then somewhere around 2pm, it all came crashing down. The hangover I had staved off all morning attacked me with a vengeance and I found myself trying to hide in the bathroom between bouts of dry heaving and vomiting, hoping that no one would notice my plight. But really, how could they not?

By the time I made my way out of my workplace, I was armed with a plan and an overwhelming desire to be in the fetal position for several hours. Never again, I vowed. No exceptions, no deviations. It's the formula or nothing from now on. Famous last words, right? I'm not the only person to have endured this kind of pain. I'm also not the only one stupid enough to not take the day off and convalesce in peace and relative comfort. I can tell you this though, if I can make a good impression while green and nauseous, I'm a much better actress than I thought I was.

Take a lesson here, friends, because the next time, I'm sure I won't be so lucky to not only make it home in one piece, but to get my stuff back as well. But the question now is, do I start drinking more to avoid this scenario? Isn't "training" the way to become good at all things?