Showing posts from August, 2010

The Devil Wear Heels

"Because you wear your red heels carrying your pitchfork."

This is the response I received when I asked why someone in my office (who I barely know) is frightened of my existence. Me, this lady. Apparently the devil. In red heels.

I struggle with this "people are intimidated" by me thing. Yes, there are times when I intentionally create that perception for good reason and those people should fear me. It comes in very handy in the professional world and in dealing with life's random assholes.

It's the unintentional intimidation of non-targets I fail to grasp because really? At my core, I just want to please people.

I have a hypothesis. I am intimidating. But not for the reasons people may think. I don't think it's cool, nor do I pride myself on being a bitch (although I am accomplished at it when required).

I'm not actually that mean. I'm quite sensitive. I can be a total doormat. Yep. Doormat.

So why this outward perception?

Because I know.…

The Ultimate Reward

When asked why I am good at my job, my response is typically as follows: "Because I give a shit."

And boy did I ever for the past nine months. I have been working with a highly talented team of people to develop what is now the AT&T careers website. I have nurtured this baby from a bullet list of requirements to a PDF of pretty pictures, to a fully functioning, highly immersive and absolutely gorgeous live website. This must be what it's like to give birth. Simultaneously joyful, overwhelming and a little sad that it's over.

Of course, I alone have not achieved this. There were plenty of people involved, for I am not a web designer nor programmer...but I have been known to write some copy.  I took it personally and project managed it to perfection. Which is most definitely why they call me a VP. Not so much. But it mattered. It had to be absolutely right. And thankfully I have a visionary client, the most incredible creative director on the planet (and no you ca…

On the Record

A few days ago I got married and had three children. At least according to the "Semester at Sea Alumni Directory."

My boyfriend spent several months on a boat in college--hence the semester at sea--touring the world and gaining life experience, and they contacted him for an update. Much to my surprise when asked about a wife, he said me. And children? Well, I'll have you know we have little Pace, Krista and Cherokee, according to Scott.

Should we have real children one day, he will have zero say in what we name them.

While on the phone he looks at me and says, "honey who was born first, Pace or Krista?" when listing his children by birth order, as recommended by the kindly phone representative.

What she must think of us.

Matters of Life and Death

A very dear friend of mine was in a horrible accident this weekend. She was one of the lucky ones. Whereas others lost their lives or had them changed forever, she's in bad shape but will by the grace of God recover fully.

Or will she?

What remains to be seen is the affect a tragic and significant incident like this will have on her life. There is no question coming this close to death is likely to have an impact in some way, shape, or form. In her case, I know it will be positive -- she's going to be just fine and maybe even better than before. Life has dealt her a pretty shitty deck of cards in her time, but she's been blessed with the gift of resilience. Like always, I know she will come out smiling with the support of her true friends and family who love her to the ends of the earth.

But let's face it. We as a collective take life for granted. We're here, going about our business, bitching about our spouses (or lack thereof--guilty), toiling through the days, …

Change of Plans, or Planes

Today was one of those days that didn't exactly go as planned. I am still in my living room, when I should be in a hotel room watching a movie and ordering room service in the city of L.A.

Last night, I got really sick. What kind of sick I will leave to your imagination. I can't say this was entirely unexpected...I had been feeling off all week, especially in the mornings and at night before bed. The timing was just impeccable. I slept maybe three hours, and when it came time to get up and head out the door I knew I was in absolutely no state to get on a plane. For my sake and everyone else's.

And I immediately felt guilty. Because I had to fly for work and I had two meetings to conduct over two days. It didn't matter that I really, truly, would not survive five hours in the air, not to mention a meeting. I still spent the rest of my day trying to get another flight, stressing myself out and worsening the situation.

When I called Delta, they told me the next flight …

Just My Type

Just found this online while debating my "type" with my boyfriend (beyond hot, smart and way out of his league). Thought I would share the Myers-Briggs personality test in the event you are curious about yourself! It's free, so check it out.

Take time with it -- 20 to 30 minutes -- and answer honestly, not what people say you are. As an example, let's take me. Naturally. People think I'm an extrovert and highly social. I'm not. It's a struggle. But I have adapted over the years out of necessity. Kind of like a highly functioning alcoholic. So when asked if I thrive in social situations with large groups of people, that would be a "No".

Fun little exercise and you might learn a thing or two. Or your significant other.


I heard a rumor the dislike button is now available on Facebook. I have yet to investigate it for fear of abuse once possessed. I dislike all kinds of crap out there, and will likely end up insulting and even alienating people should this little button find its way into my applications.   

My number one pet peeve? No pictures of yourself. What's the point of being a Facebook stalker if you can't look at photos? Or being on Facebook period? This is not just a dislike, but a Facebook fail. And to the people who post pics of their kids / pets only? Let me tell you, I immediately assume you are much less attractive than when I knew you, or that your self-esteem is currently supported by anti-depressants.

Next up is Four Square. I do not care where the hell you are. Period. But burglars and serial killers might.  And who wants to be a fake Mayor anyway?

And finally, there are the people that don't know how to use it, i.e. updating their status with what was meant to be a wal…

Corrections (or, Clarifications)

Just like a newspaper. So in a recent post, I relayed a lesson I learned about emotions in the workplace. I was not at liberty (ethically speaking) to share the details of the specific situation, so I likened it to "calling your boss an asshole".

I did not, in fact, call my boss an asshole. Even if I didn't like said boss, like I said, I'm not an idiot. It was merely an example, albeit it poorly written, used to illustrate another situation.

And for the record, I have a great boss. They say managers are one of the top reasons employees leave a company. It's the reason I stay.

I can't lay claim to being your Corporate hero. At least in this instance.

Beauty Therapy

My nervous system is shot. I'm overwhelmed and worrisome about most aspects of my life right now. Knowing this too shall pass, I am handling (hiding) it quite well. The only noticeable physical evidence is the daily 4pm tension headaches and the occasional over-the-top berating of an unsuspecting asshole.

But I am starting to notice cracks in the foundation, and since I don't wear make-up, I know it's my well-being that's compromised. There is not enough wine in the world to make it go away and underneath the nearest large rock was occupied, so a Calgon moment was in order.

Unfortunately, the bathtubs in this house are punishment not pleasure (just ask the dog) so I went to the only other place that I knew could soothe me. The spa. Oh, and the salon.  I have been cut, colored, waxed, plucked, rubbed, tugged, cleansed, extracted and scrubbed of my burdens.

Except one. I'm now poor. Today was expensive. But no doubt cheaper than 30-days in an outpatient clinic. I hav…

The Sh*t my Grandma Says is better than the Sh*t your Dad Says

I worship my Grandma. When I was little, I believed she was a Saint. Saint Marie, who God hand-picked to make the world a happy place. I used to try to wrap my head around how God would give her wings if we buried her in the ground when she died. It gave me nightmares.

I spent a lot of time with her and my Grandpa as a kid, all my Grandparents for that matter. Blessed. Grandma may have single handedly got me through my parents' divorce. I could talk to her about anything, and still can. As an adult, that now goes both ways and in recent years I've met the woman behind the wrinkles and does she have one hell of a story to tell.

Not that she's done living. Not by any stretch of the imagination.

Saying I am Catholic is not entirely accurate. On paper, yes. In practice, not really. She, on the other hand, religiously went to mass, gossiped about the congregation, and is still bitter that her least favorite priest baptized me as a baby. When she leaves this world to join my Gra…

Not What I Expected

I've spent the past three years house hunting. Yes, three years. For one reason or another I never actually committed, which in itself is telling. There is a recurring pattern of non-committal behavior within me that I choose to deny but the reality is I don't like anything that doesn't offer flexibility. Or better stated, options.

Just look at my life. Options abound. I am not married, I have no children, my job (not company) changes every two years, I don't have a set schedule, I do whatever I want pretty much whenever I want to...I have zero non-flexible commitments. 

In some cases, it's not that I don't want them, but I want the right ones. And there are endless criteria that change on a daily basis in regard to the "right" house, car, computer, job, husband, and so on. I'm looking for guarantees where I know there aren't any.

I first learned this while trying to buy a car last year. It took me three months to get up the courage to commi…

Farewell, Waffle House

Waffle House is a Southern staple. In college, it's where I went at 3am to scarf down smothered hash browns in a drunken binge state. As an adult, well, it's purpose hasn't changed much but add to that the occasional weekend breakfast--best damn cheese eggs you will ever eat, promise. It's cheap, usually close because you can't drive a mile without seeing one, and good for what it costs. 
All that said, the decor and cleanliness leaves much to be desired. You get used to the toothless waitresses and larger than life, sweating like pigs-on-a-spit grill cooks, but I could never accept the food on the floor (dropped in transit, by kids, whatever), waffle batter all over the kitchen and spotted silverware. Or the finger prints on the windows. Anyone who knows me understands that I am just, oh, insanely OCD in regard to cleanliness. Use your imagination to figure out how I get through these breakfasts. I'll give you a hint: there's a happy place involved. 
I know,…


I had a few today that I'd thought I'd share, because I love to share. Thoughts, not my stuff.

First, I learned a very valuable lesson courtesy of some really great advice from my boyfriend who is good for so much more than sex. So the story goes...I'm a smart girl. Sometimes, however, I let my emotions get the best of me and that can lead to trouble.

Especially in the work environment. Like calling your boss an asshole. Please...I'm not an idiot and if you knew my boss you would understand how far from the truth that statement actually is, but you get the point of my behavior. I've been doing this 13 years and there is very little I haven't seen. My passion can get the best of me.

I lost perspective that it's "just recruitment advertising" for an hour or so yesterday and got yelled at by someone I respect. A lot. Two very powerful words worked their way into my vocabulary--"you're right." Which of course means I'm wrong (BLASPHE…

Murphy's Law Effectively Demonstrated

I tried to be spontaneous Friday. I bought last minute tickets to the Steve Miller Band concert thinking a night on the lawn under the stars would be a great way to end the week.

There are times I am certain I am mistakenly carrying someone else's Karma. Someone like Osama Bin Laden.

We decided to eat somewhere near the amphitheater before the show in Alpharetta. Admittedly, I do not know this area very well, but seeing as it is the model for non-descript, over-developed, sunshine and friggin' butterflies suburbia, certainly we could find a restaurant.

Certainly not. Not a single strip mall with food. Which means we must have been (circling) on the only road they forgot to develop. Not even a family bar/restaurant a la Applebee's.

We settled on a Mexican restaurant after 45 minutes of tooling around in a place I will never live, and I thought...we should have planned.

Mexican is good even when it's bad. Unless you happen to stop at El Porton, which takes bad to the dep…