About Pink Slip Girl

Spring Is Here and I’m Sneezing

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Rita is giggly.  She’s probably picking up guys as we speak.  She called me at midnight squealing,” I”m a cougar, I’m a cougar.”  Oh no, I thought, now I have to deal with her adolescence.

“Pinkslip, I have another date on Friday” she said excitedly.

” Listen, I take it your not going to synagogue  Listen.  Don’t “put out on the first date. And don’t tell him whether you buy or rent.  Keep him guessing. ”  I said trying to be helpful.

Well, they say happiness is contagious. But I wasn’t.    I was ashamed at my own schadenfreude for all these years.

“I feel like a teenager again” she yelled.

“Rita, I’m so happy for you!” I cheered.

But inside I felt miserable.  Its just that  I never thought that at this point in life I would be living with a canine.  Don’t get me wrong.  I’m counting my blessings.  She’s blond and  doesn’t talk back.  I have shelter and kibble.  But I never thought my life companion would have four paws.  But then again, many people would consider that trading up.

Ugh, love is everywhere.  Even my dog, Brie, has become a flirt.  In fact, she has fallen in love with a Cairn terrier down the block.  When he comes within a few feet of her, she pounces in front of him frantically, and then runs away.  My mature terrier repeats this frantic ritual 3 or 4 times until totally exhausted.  Then,. with her last burst of strength, she sprints down the street, dragging me like roadkill.  She also started to wake up  every morning at 3 am to flirt with the newspaper delivery guy.  In the middle of the night, she  listens for the “thud” that is her call to duty.  Then, she jumps out of my bed like Bat Dog and arrives at the door within a nanosecond.  First there’s the low guttural growl. ” Grrrr ” Then a soft  “arf….arf.”

A little louder. “Arf…Arf….”

A little faster, “Arf…Arf…”

Now, she howls with a cute smile.  “ARF!  ARF!”

The newspaper delivery guy howls back through the door, ” AROOOGH!”

He leaves, and she whines until 6:00, when my alarm goes off.  She then returns to my bed and stretches out on my pillow with paws in all directions, grinning.  It’s time for me to get up and for her to get her beauty rest.

Home Again!

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I was “gainfully” employed for awhile.  Working for an outsourcing company.  Then my job was outsourced to India.  My friends think its hysterical!  Things are actually pretty different around here.  First, I’ve become a mother. No It’s not what you think.  I haven’t been having that much fun.  I adopted a Yorkshire terrier named Brie this past August and I’ve been too busy being trained that I have been able to write.  It’s a dog’s life!  She came from a very good neighborhood in Connecticut, and is adjusting to being an urban dog.  Everyday I play her some rap music.  And she got her first taste of good Jewish pot roast.  Now she refuses to eat her kibble without kosher chicken.  this dog lucked out!  Also, Rita’s gotten really skinny.  You wouldn’t recognize her and Gucci.  Now I’m going to have to hear HER dating stories!  And Abby just came back from another trip to Antarctica and looks almost mystically happy.  I think she’s going to go off wondering again.  So, here I am, living with a canine, about to call unemployment.  Again.  I think you are now up-to-date.

Self-Education

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I went to a conference on Twitter and found that I’m truly a “twidiot!”  The best part, however, was seeing Martha   Stewart in person and hearing her speak about important digital marketing matters.   Like shoes…What I learned is that she’s really into them.  In fact, she’ll even take a picture of your shoes if she likes them.  I was sorry that she didn’t take a picture of my shoes.  I should have worn the ones with the bows, or the polka dots.  Not black patent flats…I would love to go for dinner at her house.  But I would keep her away from my feet!

Signs-January

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There is so much snow and ice.  I’m sitting at my computter looking at job boards, but I’m thinking about going to Israel. The truth is, I’m afraid to do anything different.  I go down to the street, and I see a broken down sign on the corner in front of the garbage.    I move closer.  It reads “Be your dreams.”  I look on the other side. Sprawling across the back of the disgarded sign in proud, thick, black, bold graffitti is, “Be Your Dreams!”

Myers Briggs-January

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 The counselor invites me to take a bunchof tests–including the Myers Briggs personality test.  It is apparently based on a Jungian concept that there are roughly 30 something types of personalities.  Actually, I think I’ve dated them all.  It’s  a  battery of questions revealing your “authentic self”–whether ou like  to pick up guys at parties or sulk alone in a corner…boss people at work or sit under your desk waiting for the cuts to be over hoping you won’t be noticed…It assesses whether you’re the kind of person who pays 30% interest on your credit cards like me and can’t keep a plant alive, but is dedicated to world peace.  Or if you need a list to keep track of your lists. 

I recall on question was “Do you enjoy planning in advance, or do what’s fun at the moment?”  Well, that was a tough one, Every dayplanner I’ve owned has remained empty despite my franetic activity.

Synogogue Job Search Group-No Rugalah

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It was one of those freezing nights last weeks where I wanted to just isolate in my overheated apartment.  I’ve  been staying in alot lately and I’ve been blaming it on the weather.  It’s cold…icy…slushy.  But the fact is I really don’t want to be around people.  I guess this is the opposite of “networking.”  So, there’s an event at the synogogue accross the street from where I live at 7:00 and I figure maybe I should go.  Perhaps there will be some good tips.  I leave what’s become my cave and head for the meeting.  I hope there are cookies. Not on the “Poodle Girl Diet.” I make it across the street into the temple which has an awful smell.  The meeting room is packed.  Two slim, blonde women are heading the discussion who are obviously not part of the congregation.  They are perky and animated, pointing  to a powerpoint.  (Irish Catholic I guess.) They talk about resumes and two minute pitches.  Linked-In and FaceBook.  All familiar jargon if you’ve been a professional.  So where’s the rugalah and the turkey sandwiches.  Apparently we don’t get food as we’re the disenfranchised.  I notice a pamphlet on Jewish Poverty at the head of the table and I have trouble breathing.  I young woman raises her hand and starts talking about her depression.  She talks on and on and won’t stop.  Out of the edges of my eyes I see old friends and boyfriends in the crowd.  We do out best not to acknowledge each other.  The program ends.  No rugalah.  I sneak out in shame and eat a bag of double chocolate Milanos in secret.

Harvard Hedge Fund Event

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I planned to meet a friend at a Harvard Hedge Fund event who works for a major nonprofit organization.  Everybody shows up for it whether they’re in the industry or not—it’s like a big B-School garden party.  Come to think of it, I don’t know what a hedge fund is.  So, where did that name come from?  That large bush that surrounds the “masters of the universe?”  Or is a “hedge” a small malicious animal with sharp teeth—like a rat, trained to point fingers…or claws.  I didn’t want to come, but I figured there would be good shoes, cute guys, and shrimp.   I arrived early and we were not allowed to touch the drinks.  And there were no cocktail franks.  So, I had to survive the famine until after the panel discussion.  I walk toward the auditorium of the investment firm where the event was hosted, and signed a non-disclosure before I entered the inner sanctum.  I sit in my seat and inhale the scent of leather and power.  People are a whirl of Wall Street black and grey, furiously checking their BlackBerries.  The atmosphere is hushed and private—even reverential.  And it should be…

Some of the people in the room probably make more money than a small county, come to think of it.  We civilians in the audience are fascinated to be near this tidal wave of cash.

The moderator takes the microphone, “Nothing we say here is true.”  All the speakers nod silently.  The audience bows in reverence.  Each guru takes his turn delivering a market recap and prophesying the year to come.  We take notes hoping the wizardry will rub off.

The terms blurred…derivative…long position…Whatever.  When do we eat!

Fingers pointing, but all innocent.   They’re all good.  Right?  Like Lloyd Blankfein at Goldman Sachs who is doing “God’s work.”  What a relief.  And he’s just a blue collar guy.  I have shirts with blue collars too. 

The words echo,”Madoff was not one of us.  He was a broker/dealer.  He never would have received external clearance.

The room nodded.

There was no shrimp at the reception.  Only fried chicken.

The Poodle Girl Diet

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At 8am the next morning I call Dr. G my internist.  I speak with his assistant Shirley.

“Hi, Dorothy, It’s Pink Slip.  It’s an emergency I must wee the doctor today.”

“What is it—H1N1?”  she sounded concerned.

“No.  I can’t tell you.  It’s personal.  But believe me, it’s important.”  I pretend to cough.

“Listen Pink Slip.  He’s really busy, but I”ll squeeze you in.  Can you be here in one hour?

“Great.  Thanks so much” I say in my best hoarse voice.

I squeeze on my jeans  and run to the bus. I consider this to be my first day of excercise. 

Within 45 minutes I arrive at Dr. G’s office.

“HI  Ms. Pink Slip.   How are you today?”   Dorothy is a prim looking woman with large black glasses, who always appears dwarfed by the voluminous papers on her desk.  “You can go into the examining room.”

Thanks.”  I hang up my coat and cough.

Dr. G appears looking weary and harried.  He’s a studious looking man in a white coat and bow tie with thinning silver hair and wire framed glasses.

 
“So?”  He sits down across from me and crosses his legs.  He pulls out a pad and is ready to take notes.

“Well, come to think of it, I could use some happy pills.”

“I can prescribe an allergy pill.  What else?”

“I’m having bad dreams.”

“Just don’t go to sleep” he yawns.  “Trying to get out of something?  Jury duty?

“Actually, this is my problem.  I’m fat.  I’m just not getting picked up at the Harvard Club bar these days by loaded octogenarians.” I start to weep and he hands me a wrinkled tissue.  Probably from his last flu victim.

“Tell me what you eat in a typical day.  Like yesterday.”

“Well, I skipped breakfast.  Had a fudgy cupcake for lunch.  And, let’s see.  A margarita, a corn chips, and a half of a beef burrito for dinner at Tia Mia.” ( An incomlete inventory.  I know I ate the whole burrito.  My shame would allow me to confess just so much.”

“Sour cream?”

“Yeah, but on the burrito.”  I  smirk.    I didn’t tell him about the chocolate chocolate chip ice cream I ate in secret—even hiding it from Solace bear.

“That cupcake thing is juvenile.  That’s a child’s palette.”  We both pause and think.

“Let me calculate your Body Mass Index.”  He pulls out a Blackberry, flips open a manila folder, and makes some focused calculations.  “Hmmm, there is indeed a problem. “

I start to wail like I just lost my best friend.

“This is my suggested food plan.  Ok, (he looks like he’s delivering military secrets).  For breakfast, one apple and a sliver of cheese.”

“What kind?” I feel concerned.  That’s a change in diet for me.  I’m used to donuts and cupcakes for breakfast.

“I’m flexible. Gouda and Jarlsberg are fine.”

“What about lunch.  I’m beginning to feel hungry.”

He glares at me, “No lunch.  That’s a strict rule.”

“Oh please.  That can’t be so.  I’ll starve.”

He grins.  “You’ll burn body fat.  I do it every day.  Too busy to eat.  I told the girls in the office to do it and they cried.”

My stomach starts to growl.  “I’m already hungry.  This won’t work.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

“Dinner?  I ask weakly.

“You know how to chop salad?”

“No.”  For me icing is a vegetable.

“You’ll learn.  Every night you chop lettuce.  You like blue cheese?

“Yeah.  But with a porterhouse steak.”

“You put 2 ounces cheese in the salad.  Throw in another apple.  And that’s dinner.  The weight will melt away.” he punches his stomach.

“Wow.  And what about exercise? ” I’m getting more disheartened.

“I don’t believe in it.  I’m too busy to go the gym.”

“Oh, and every once in a while, throw in a really low calorie dinner” he shakes his pen.

“Lower than lettuce?”

“That’s right.  One cup Cheerios and milk.  That’ll keep you on track.  Anything else?

“That’s not enough food for an upper east side NYC poodle!”   That’s what I’ll call it.  “The Poodle Girl Diet.”

We’re Fat!

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I’m experiencing the January blahs…sitting in my apartment amidst the Mallamar wrappers and discarded boxes.  Perhaps you can relate.  It’s Thursday at around 8:00PM.  I’m lonely.   I should be out having drinks. But here I am watching Grey’s Anatomy and eating Twizzlers with my bear Solace.  There’s something wrong with this picture.  I call my best friend Rita, who lives in my apartment building.

“Rita, we’re fat,”  I cry sinking into my bed.

“You just discovered that?”  she laughs.  I hear her toy poodle Gucci barking in the background.  ”  That mutt is the only one of us in this family who doesn’t have a weight problem!”  I hear a sucking noise.  “Oh, excuse me.  I didn’t mean to interupt your menage a trois.”

“You’ve got it!”  I’m indisposed.  With Ben and Jerry!”

“I’ve dated them.    Expecially Chubby Hubby.”  I turn on the remote to watch American Idol.”

“Yeah, it’s smooth, but reliable.”  Rita is a pretty blonde who looks like a plus-sized Chistina Applegate.  A clinical psycholgist, she’s highly analytical and is prone to long explanations of things.  Resigned to single life at 43, she adopted the toy poodle we dubbed Gucci after our favorite bags.

“Diet” I declare.  That’s we have to do.  Including the poodle.

“Listen PinkSlip.  Diet is a four letter work. Nite!”

I think of the Gone With The Wind.”  Scarlett O Hara was determined to succeed despite overwhelming obstables.  What did she say?  “I’ll never go hungry again!”

Well, that’s not going in the right direction, but she did eat turnips for a while and looked mighty trim when she visited Rhett Butler in that green curtain.

Volunteer Assignments

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I was inspired by the noble actions people have taken to help Haiti.  We are all connected.  So I start to think.  What can I do to help?  I look at some web sites.  Cure the sick.  That’s important.  I look at New York Presbyterian Hospital.  It’s in the neighborhood and there are doctors.  I see  a number of volunteer opportunities.  Two stand out:

Milk Shake Service

Escorts