Sunny Days in DC

Jack of All Trades, Master of 3-ish.

You’re Making Me Uncomfy in My Uh-Oh Place, and Other Workplace Tales

First off, I’ve been sick. So to all the lovely people who have commented and not had a response/ stalked me and didn’t think my heart was in it this time when I turned the sprinklers on you: my apologies. I have, what I can only surmise to be, Ebola-Strep-Plague-Cold-Influenzitis. It is very rare. I blame Max.

Anywho, if you haven’t been following me on twitter because, for some reason, you actually WORK during normal business hours, allow me to catch you up on all the glory you have missed…

Dear Workplace Colleagues,

I get it. When working in a high-stress, faced-paced environment, we tend to make close friends, have inside jokes, and sometimes say things that seem a bit off-color, until you know the reference (then they REALLY get inappropriate!). That’s cool. It’s all in good fun! But I think it’s time we put together a list of things you can and cannot say to me while I’m being paid to spend time with you. I really didn’t think this had to be spelled out, but okee dokee, here we go!:

1) STFU about your hysterectomy. I’m sorry (maybe?) that you had one. Yes, that DOES suck. But I don’t know you that well, and I DON’T want to hear the details. Are you buying me drinks? I amend this rule: You are allowed to discuss the removal/ black market sale of your internal organs ONLY when purchasing me copious quantities of alcohol. Like Bailey’s. I love that stuff.

2) You are never, EVER allowed to say “We work hard, and we play hard” to me EVER again, unless by “work hard” you mean you put in over 18 hours a day, and by “play hard” you mean you run marathons in Mongolia. I’m from New York, I know Wall Street people. Your two-Cosmo evening doesn’t impress me. Keep it pushing, playa. 

3) “I’m not a micro-manager” – Every micro-manager, EVER. 

4) “You know what’s so funny, Hannah?”


“I have the HARDEST time not getting a little spray on the toilet seat when I sit down to pee.”


That sounds like A) a medical condition; get your junk checked, and B) None of my business! I don’t want to look at you during a meeting and think, “I wonder if she managed to hit the target today!” No. Just…. just NO!

5) “Last night, my girlfriend/boyfriend/favorite farm animal…” if the rest of that sentence isn’t “tried this FABULOUS restaurant that you’re going to love. Here, let me give you the info!” then so help me, titty-fucking jesus, I will cough on you. Right. On. Your. Face. Which brings us to…

6) “Ew. Are you *sick*?! Why don’t you go home?!” No, I sneeze because periodically, during the day, my nose gets bored and I like for her to do some serious cardio. And I’m WORKING because if I try working from home, you’ll cut my hours. I get PAID by the hour. Mama isn’t nearly as cute when she’s POOR. Then, she ends up starting crazy ass blogs and shit, and forcing people to be her friends. WHO WANTS THAT, I ASK YOU?!?!

And now, onto the lighter side. Here is a list of things you absolutely CAN say to me at any point in the day:

1) You’re getting a raise.

2) I’m going to get you your favorite drink.

3) We’re going to toast to your raise with your favorite drink.

4) You look *so* pretty today.

5) Yes of COURSE you should blog at work! I can’t believe you even asked me that!

…I think you see where this is going, workplace colleagues. You have your guidance. Go forth and do great things!



Hold Still; I have to stab you in the face

My first boss here in DC once said to me, “You’ll never make it in this industry; you’re not demure enough for a woman.” Well, fuck you very much, too!

As much as that pissed me off, what drives me to the brink of letting my head explode while candy comes shooting out, is when that shit comes from a woman.

Case in point: my friend is in a meeting today. One of the other women she works with pulls her aside after the meeting and tells her that she shouldn’t “speak so loud.”

Are you for fucking real? ARE YOU?! I MIGHT HAVE TO STRANGLE YOU WITH MY FALLOPIAN TUBES RIGHT NOW… they’re probably pretty small, so you’re gonna have to get up REAL close to me…

For some reason, I feel like chicks should support other chicks. Sisah Soljah. Keep it real. I’m every woman; it’s all in me. ALL of that. So, when I see a woman trying to hold another woman back, my eye starts twitching, and I have to fight off the urge to grab them by the shoulders and yell…


She’s “talking too loud”?! What does that even MEAN???? Like, was she YELLING? Was she screaming uncontrollably like I am right now? No? She was just being forceful and commanding? THEN GOOD. That makes you uncomfy in your little girl panties?! EVEN BETTER!!!!

What would possibly make this woman happy? Maybe my friend should come in to work in a knee-length skirt, never make eye contact, and only speak when spoken to. Maybe she should giggle when people look directly at her or ask her a question, and defer to this other woman. “Oh gosh, I don’t know, Laura* probably knows the answer to that,” my friend will have to whisper while wringing her hands.


*It’s ok to look, just don’t make direct eye contact. Only whores and loud women do that.*

And this is the thing: for some reason, I consistently expect more from other women, PARTICULARLY women in business. YOU KNOW HOW HARD THIS IS, WHY ARE YOU MAKING IT HARDER?! I’ve had people treat me like my vagina is the hole that my brain falls out of when I stand up, and what’s upsetting is that a good 25% of the people who do that to me HAVE BEEN WOMEN.

I don’t get it. Are they trying to prove something? I know lots of men in business who respect their female counterparts, and are comfortable taking directions from women. Is this a thing where some women are trying to show they’re “just one of the guys”? Is she trying to assert her own power over my friend? Is she trying to take control over something, just for the purpose of control?

And more to the point: when my head DOES finally explode, what kind of candy will come shooting out? Leave your guess in the comments below.

Goodnight, good people of earth.


*I’m using the name “Laura,” but I don’t know any Lauras who are this stupid, so I am now forced to apologize to all Lauras everywhere. I am sorry. I owe you a Starbucks.


I Do Our Budget While Eating Ice Cream and Heating Up Pizza

I realized tonight as I stood in the kitchen, eating ice cream and waiting for our “organic microwave” pizza to heat up, that I am a pretty disgusting person. Who does this? ON A NUMBER OF LEVELS, WHO DOES THIS? Let’s break it down together.

1) I am eating ice cream. While waiting for my pizza to heat up.

2) I don’t do drugs, so this is how I take the edge off of doing our family budget. WTF?!

3) I should just fucking do drugs and be skinny.

I had a tough day at work… but it’s ok. The further I get from being unemployed, the more I realize what a bad head space it put me in. I don’t know if I’ll ever fully grasp just how much it messed with me, but as I find my groove in the new role, and yes even when I flounder, I look back at my life over the past year and realize how hard it was. 2012 was not my year.

The only good thing about it, was that my son was born…

…he makes it all worth it.


In which I hide in the bathroom and pretend I’m in Epcot.

I’m sleepy. This is a sleepy post because I find it easier to talk about upsetting things when I don’t have enough sleep to censor myself. So, we’re there.

This past week… this was rough. I wouldn’t say I have “anxiety disorder,” or that it’s all that intense, but I have episodes that are worse than others. It’s why I haven’t posted too much over the past few days.

My new job is great, and I’m so happy to have it… but I’ve been burned in the past. You think things are going well, but there’s that little voice inside of you that just won’t let you relax. You can’t just be happy. You wake up each morning waiting for the other shoe to drop.

My manager is a micro-manager. That’s not to say he’s mean, or incompetent; he’s very good at his job. Too good, maybe, to let someone else fumble a bit and make mistakes. But it’s tough when everything you do is under a microscope. Have you ever tried doing something at work while someone is sitting there, looking over your shoulder? They’re watching you. They’re judging everything you do.

I didn’t put in a dotted line fast enough.

I didn’t switch out two names, even though I didn’t know I should… I guess I could have figured it out…

It’s been 11.5 months since my last job ended, and let’s just say, it didn’t end on a high note. I was 5 months pregnant… you draw your own conclusions. So I’m out of practice. I don’t have my game face on. Sorry about that; I left it at home on my nightstand next to the Desitin and the box of baby wipes.

And then, at some point, it just became too much. And in my head, I pictured being called into my manager’s office. In my head, they tell me that this isn’t working out. They’re letting me go. My blood pressure rises. I can’t be unemployed again. My family is depending on me. I have a baby. We have a mortgage.


Don’t do this…

I’ll work longer. I’ll be better…

Am I overly dramatic? Maybe. Probably. But not intentionally. I had to take a few minutes. I walked into the bathroom and closed the door.

Am I the only one who does this?

My friend texted me: “Take a deep breath. Again.”

Some people have “happy places” of verdant fields with… I don’t know, lambs or some shit. I went to the Maryland Wool and Sheep Festival a couple of times. Sheep smell like… well, like dirty, wet wool.

Which I guess is appropriate.

MY happy place is Epcot Center in Disney World. I went there last year when I was pregnant with Max. Unlike the other parks, Epcot is really more about science and discovery and learning and I am a giant fucking nerd because I loved it so much, and couldn’t understand why anyone would go to any other park.


So I sat in the bathroom, hyperventilating, picturing that time my husband and I rode the tour around the Disney science lab, and telling myself that everything would be ok.

When I got out, one of my coworkers pulled me aside. “You’re really good at this, you know?” he said. “You just need to stop thinking you’re failing. You’re not. You’re actually making people annoyed, because you’re downplaying how good you really are.” It was a smack to the face.

Work is hard.

Managers are hard.

Sometimes though, you’re hardest on yourself.


Growing Pains

Today, at 5PM EST, I marked the last week of my career as a Stay at Home Mom. And it’s bitter-sweet.

It’s so necessary for me. I’m in awe of women who wake up every day, create a structure for themselves and their children, and take joy out of shuttling the wee folk around to swimming classes and music groups. ESPECIALLY when they’re too young to talk.

And yet…

Max isn’t crawling yet. And what are the odds he’ll do it on a weekend when I can catch it? Someone else will see him crawl. Someone else will come to him when he wakes up from naps, and see his sleepy bed head. They’ll see him smile (because that’s the first thing this child does when he wakes up), and they’ll hear him laugh (the second thing). When he walks for the first time, will I be there? Can I schedule that for two sundays from now?

What will change during the days that I’m gone? What will stay the same? I hope I’m here when he wakes up in the morning, and to put him to bed at night… but I can’t be sure. I know I won’t be able to do that every day. I will miss some bedtimes. I will leave before he’s awake, and I’ll come home to a dark nursery.

It’s an indescribable ache. A longing to be here, and a knowledge that what’s best for him is that I’m happy… and I can’t cut it as a stay at home mother.


Sometimes, when I have him in my lap, he reaches an arm around me and likes to tickle my ribs. I sit there, suppressing giggles, trying to quiet him down for a nap… will he remember to tickle me next weekend? I wish I could make him promise that he will, and I’m crying, knowing that even those days are numbered…


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