Harvard Business School is concerned about its future. I’m glad I”m not the only one. So, the institution has embarked on a huge fundraising campaign. The Dean gave an impassioned speech at a recent event to compel the crowd to give, give, give! (Personally, I went for the hors d’oeuvres.) The goal was a mere $1.0 billion to cultivate future global leaders. In a matter of months, they’ve raised $770.0m. I was going to plan a cupcake sale, but I guess that’s not necessary.
I’ve been gone for a while. That’s because I have been writing my upcoming novel, “My Slip Was Pink.” Thank goodness it was a cold winter. That justifies my agoraphobia. Generally, I find quaint, weird places outside of my apartment to write. Due to the frigid temperatures, I curled up in my bed with my Mac Air, dog, and bag of Doritos. Ugh! So, now I need a support group for fellow writers who are blinded by the light of day. And a weight loss clinic. How did you spend the winter? I would like to know.
It’s the Jewish new year, and I’m atoning for my sins in the hope of redemption. I’m up to sin number 2345. That’s a lot of people to to apologize to. It’s also alot of bread to through in the water. An ancient custom which symbolizes literallycasting away one’s sins. Or better, giving up the baggage that keeps us stuck.
So, this year I figured I would try it . I made a major pilgrimage downtown to the Hudson river. The vista was so spectacular that I felt spiritual. It this doesn’t do it nothing will, I thought. I said to myself, I’m really sorry for all of it, as I threw in a loaf of Wonder Bread. It treaded water and floated back to me.
So much for my expiation this year.
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!
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!”
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.
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.
I’m on my computer checking my email. I’m minding my own business . In fact, I’m even thinking about starting my job search. Suddenly, I see an email from a partner at a law firm who once referred me to a marketing executive at his company–one of the top ten law firms in the world.
It says, “Pink Slip, why do you think I need Viagra?
“What? Would you please clarify?” I never even met this guy. Then I look at the email.
To my horror, an email has been sent in my name to members of my address book, endorsing the use of Viagra. I, Pink Slip, am the new love goddess pushing the drug, not only for men, but for women too. You would think they would at least send me some free samples!
I panic and call the partner, and due to some miracle, he picks up his line.
“Hi Pink Slip.”
“I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say!” I feel like I’ve been compromised without having any fun.
“Listen. It’s a clear case of identity fraud. I’m not that familiar with it. But it’s becoming more common. Take care of it.”
“Ok. Thanks. I mean I’m so sorry….”
“Oh no…” I ponder. ” What next. I have internet clap.”
T and I have been good friends for a while. She’s an investment banker and has a no nonsense approach to life. With long blonde hair and large green eyes, I can safely say that T is not only brainy but beautiful. And she’s tough. But I can’t tell you too much about her or she’ll come after me. So, we’re sitting at the Harvard Club crying about our misery. Not enough money and no good men.
“I’ll tell you what men want, Pink Slip.” she grins seductively eying the men in the room.
“You would know”, I drown myself in Pinot Grigio wondering how does she ever walk in those shoes.
“The Bimbo Doll!”
“I get it. She’s blonde and blue-eyed like Barbie, and her boobs are totally disproportional. And she can’t talk except when you pull her string. Oh, and she comes with no clothes.”
“Perfect” T smiles.
“Except for a tiny Perla thong and bra.”
“Bimbo has a hoarse voice like she’s had the swine flu.”
“Yeah.” I go for the pretzels and cheese whiz. I’ll start my diet tomorrow. (How does T stay at a size 2?)
T shoves a carrot in her mouth. “Oh, baby you’re so great. You’re just what I want…
I chime in to stop her from going all the way “Oh, Oh, Oh, I really need your big…reference?”
“Oh Pink Slip, get a job already!”
She’s right. But doing what?
I’ve noticed that dating and interviewing for jobs are very similar. But what do YOU think about “Googling” a potential date before you’ve even met them? Does it really give you some kind of competitive advantage over drinks?” I don’t know. Personally, I think it’s unromantic and downright mercenary! Do you think someone has the right to review all the details of your life , before you’ve both been severely inebriated together? Now that’s romance! Should a potential dating candidate (in the name of transparency) hurl , “I FacedBooked you! I guess you graduated high school when you were 9…?”
Maybe I am old fashioned, but I believe in these times of “the meet-up” , “the hook-up”, and “ the cybersnoop”, one should just let things unfold the natural way!
The New Date
We stare into each other eyes. There is chemistry.
He asks:
I noticed on Linked-In that you’re a marketing strategy consultant. What do you do all day long?
(Perhaps I should wink and say I will “do you!” ) That would make me popular. I eat a pretzel.
“Do you own or rent?” (Referring to my apartment. Not my body parts.)
(“Oh, of course I own.” I lie. I shove a cracker with cheese whiz in my mouth. And what about you?)
“I live in hospital housing.” he smiles.
(What does that mean? Is he a doctor or an in-patient?) I twirl my hair seductively in case he’s a doctor. Damn. I should have “Googled” him!”
He circles back to the apartment. “When did you buy?”
That’s a very important asset question. He’s also trying to figure out the capitol gains for when he moves in, divorces me, and claims ownership of my apartment. Smart. He must be an MD!
I smile coyly, “I can’t tell you that since I’ve frozen my age.”
He points at me with a a pretzel, “Got Ya!”
“It’s the new math. Got it?”
“Where does your mother live?” he asks.
“Not with me. But I’m a good daughter. I visit her every week. ” My smile is frozen.
“What is her address?” he commands as he puts his hand on my leg. That is his way of eliciting secret information from me. I stare blankly.
“Does she rent or own?” he continues.
” I don’t remember” I say weakly. He senses huge capitol gains and squeezes my leg. I start to stand, and he grabs my arm.
“Wait. We’re just getting to know each other. When did she buy?” Just a few more questions.” He pulls out a crumpled list.
“I noticed you only worked with American Baby for one year? How come?”
“How many pairs of shoes do you own?”
“Do you have long term care insurance?”
“Do you believe in decorating for the holidays? If so, with what?”
(How do you want me to decorate you, honey?)
“Do you believe in “Soul Mates?”
“How much money do you make?”
“What do you think about ME!!!”
“Tell me about the perfect relationship.”
“I really like your orange jump suit. What did you DO to get it?”
I say:
I think I’ll have some nuts…
Jane Ranzman Writer 