Things could be worse

you could suffer from body odor.
In case you can't read some of this let me give you a snippet
Gayest of the gay, she seemed. But when alone - the tears came! Lonely, unhappy, no lasting friendships - all because of "B.O."

Here is another one just for fun:


Weren't those the days? When cigarettes left you rosy cheeked and fresh?

Holidays

Lets celebrate the birth of Christ with skinless wieners!

Hooray!

I want everyone to pay attention to the maniacal expressions on these women's faces. This wiener ad was taken from a 1941 Ladies Home Journal. There is a little snippet of time in the forties where you see a ton of this insane happy look. Maybe its because the men were all away at war? What do you think?

Lazy Secretary has been very busy making Christmas presents at her desk (it involves scanning vintage textiles, distressing them, and decoupage).

Bash faces much?

Its really really busy here in Lazy Secretary land....
things really could be worse, couldn't they.

we could be bludgeoning our bosses to death with yoga sticks.

The thing that frightens me most about Linda Stein's murder is the satisfied look on Natavia Lowry's face after she committed the crime.

seriously.

look at her.

I know that look...I know it so well.
Oh Natavia, I could be where you are now. But instead of picking up a yoga stick and smashing in a face, I blog, or knit, or look at pictures of homeless animals.

There are other ways of channeling your rage. Try and think a little more constructively next time, eh?

Gone Fishin'

This image is from a 1941 Woman's magazine. The text under the illustration reads:


As Sheila introduced the two men, she compared them. Douglas-strong, reliable, crazy about a home and appearances; Mark-a rebel, jealous of his freedom, fighting the idea of marriage, for an idea of love.

Here is what I think it should say:

Lets go fishing: Brokeback Style.

A Picnic

My boyfriend is a drunk, okay! Leave my carb addiction out of this.

Dig for Treasure

How is this an activity? What does it mean? Is it disgusting?

Nutting

In case you can't read it-
the caption below the picture reads
"To bring down a golden harvest toss a stick with good aim"

wow...

WORST CRAFTS EVER

"Don't keep me locked up in M. Night's village...I'm going to be a star, Mama!"

After much thought and deliberation, I have decided to change the format for this blog. Negativity about my workplace will never bring me anything but agony and guilt. So I am here to introduce the new Lazy Secretary Blog. It is now a forum for the gayest, worst crafts and old advertisements that I can find. I will still only add to this blog when I am at the office, so you can just put that in your pipe and smoke it. Yes, ladies and gents, it is so quiet at my office, that I am able to start a revolution at my desk.

Now don't get excited, I may continue musing about intensely strange outings that my boss sends me on, but the new focus is BAD CRAFTS and ADS from the past.

Oh Yeahhh!

The CFO's secretary walked by my cube at 5:22 and asked me if I was knitting (she caught me wrapping a regular skein into a ball) here's how it shook down:

CFO's Secretary: (with Russian accent) vhat are you doink? knittink?

Lazy: Oh. No not knitting, just wrapping, ummm its 5:25, and I'm just waiting to get out of here.

CFO's Secretary: hmmm (she tips her long Russian nose down at me over the cube and her eyes land on my chest) Why are you wearink dat?

She is referring to a necklace around my neck that says "Secretary" in red plastic scrolled letters. I picked it up at the renegade craft fair. (www.brookadelphia.com)

Lazy: oh. its funny. I love it.

I realized that she probably fought really hard to not be a secretary. And here I am living it up knitting at work and laughing at the kitch value of an overeducated person like me being a secretary. That's not nice, not nice at all.

Rolex

The Big Executive asked me to run to Rolex for him on the day of my company birthday surprise (everyone gets a special cake and card on their birthday thanks to a thoughtful Brooklynite who provides this service yet keeps her birthday secret). The Big Executive's driver meets me downstairs and whisks me to a corner that I assume will have a storefront and window with display cases. NO.

Rolex customer service is on the 5th floor of a swanky 5th Avenue building. Its so quiet inside due to soft carpeting that you can make out the words of the mix of 40's standards and show tunes that play on a soft loop. The customer service reps wear matching blazers and each have a gleaming Rolex on their wrists. (they sort of look like golfers) I wondered to myself if anyone started working there just for the watch and then quit upon receipt. When the blazer clad employees take the broken and dirty Rolexes to "the back" they disappear behind a set of doors that open and close like an elevator!! AND there are fresh cut flowers and orchids throughout the marbled and golden veneered room. There were very few customers on the 5th floor, just myself and a person of the Euro-trash persuasion. I know this from his supple pointy-toed shoes and sunglasses with "Alexandros" written on the side in rhinestones.

After handing over the watch and black American Express card, I swooped back down to the street and waited for my driver. When I reached the office I found on my desk, a card signed by all of my office friends and a beautiful French creme cake with a "Happy Birthday" plastic decoration in it. I missed my birthday party.

But it was worth it.

The Fast

Yesterday THE WOMAN ACROSS THE CUBE fasted. All Day. In the morning she was jittery and chatty, I assume in an attempt to divert her attention away from her mild starvation. She called old friends and lost siblings, requested money for charity from some while complaining about her stomach pangs to others.

By 10 am I warned Lazy Secretary #2 that it was a "double headphone day" meaning she should wear both ipod headphones to drown out the inane chatter.

Unexpectedly, by 3:00 she was silent, like a horse with a broken spirit she continued sipping her Poland Spring water bottles...waiting for an apple. Around 4:00 she bit into that succulent fruit...commenting between bites that "everything's fine! this apple's all I need! everything in moderation"

She doesn't need to fast. If I look like her when I'm a grandmother all will be right with the world.

Today is a silent day. Its the kind of day where the phone only rings 4 times and all of The Big Executives are away at wonderful places: surfing at small beaches with hard to pronounce names where the concierges don't speak English, sipping coffee in Paris Bistros, or like my boss remodeling his Hamptons home by using nothing but non-union labor and gumption.

Its the kind of day where I am forced to ask myself, what does this all mean? Here is what I've done today:

Finished a book (The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls) by reading roughly 150 pages.
Went to have my eyebrows threaded
chatted with my boyfriend twice
submitted to various projects on-line via Craigslist
set up my new Ipod video, a gift from my father
logged onto petfinder.com to continue my search for a dog to rescue
researched what type of dog would be best for me, to my shock a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel came in second just under Maltese.
and obviously I caught up on email.

Here is what I didn't do:
make any contribution to society.

hmmmm. are contributions to society overrated? Am I stuck in a holding pattern?
I don't think I'm very different from other people. Lots of 30 year olds are in dead end yet cush jobs.

I know I'm talented, I know I have something to contribute to the world. I have so many ideas but I think I'm afraid.

Ick this blog is getting touchy-feely. I have to stop.

The Club

On Fridays, The Big Executive, aka my boss isn't in the office. He is sitting poolside at his Hamptons home smoking cigarettes and sipping vodka tonics. This creates an extra long and lazy day for me, The Lazy Secretary. After Free Friday Pizza at noon, The Big Executive called me from the Mercedes dealership and asked me to run an errand for him,

"Can you take my dues to The Club? They're going to put my name up in the entryway because I haven't paid in three months!"

Its a free 20 minutes out of the office for me! Hooray! So I grab the obscene check and head to the Fifth Avenue Club.

As the door opens the chilly air conditioned air puffs out onto the pavement and my heels snap on the marble: large, loud thuds like in an extra quiet library. In this enormous lobby reminiscent of Grand Central Station 15 old men are sitting around in armchairs wearing blazers and having drinks. Not talking to each other-just loitering, staring. Its 1:00 in the afternoon! As if they are homeless, they give me that haggard gaze-that too many years in New York look. In my mind they are smoking pipes, of course they weren't but they should have been.

And I thought to myself. This is it. This is the New York I imagined before I moved here. The "dahling, please take me to 21 for cocktails" Breakfast at Tiffany's New York. The clean New York. The everything here is the best New York. Not the filthy subway, fat tourists, sweaty arm touching, black snow, weird food smelling, Pabst Blue Ribbon drinking New York City of my reality.

At least I caught a glimpse of it, if only for a minute.

The Israeli

Today while sitting at my cube a tall Mediterranean person swooshed by me with a plastic bag and a clipboard. He was going for my bosses door, so of course I have to counter back with big smile,

"Oh hi. How can I help you?"

"I'm here to measure glass"

"OMG, are you here to measure my cube?"

The rumor is we are getting new cubes. I was thrilled-- thinking the process was possibly underway...at the very possibility that this shithole could look a little less like Guantanamo Bay.

"No, I'm here to measure windows for blinds"

"Ohhhh. Well my boss is in a terrible mood, is there any way you can come back later? My boss, he ummm (whispering) he owns this company"

"okay okay, I come back later, I understand how this world is working"

Twenty minutes later he returned with his clipboard, he put it on the top edge of my cube and began:

"You should go to Israel! You would get so tan, my last girlfriend (clap) whiter than you. NO BURN! Just tan, (clapping). You party there! You go out all of the time and you party! And it is so small, people say, Hello you, good morning you!. I want to go back. I keep saying these things to remind myself. You should go!"

I didn't know how to respond, I always think of Israel as a place for college students going to a kibbutz or really big guns but I didn't want him to stop talking it was far too entertaining. So I said

"Yeah, I totally should go and see the holy land"

"What?"

"The holy land"

"What?"

"You know, the wall where the people pray and stick things in the wall"

"Are you Jewish?"

"No"

"You know, Jesus was not born in Israel he was born in Egypt to Miriam and she wanted to become pregnant, so she asked God and he made her pregnant. From NO SEX!"

Now this started to really excite me. I love hearing about religious conspiracies. And sex.

"Wooow. You are totally right I bet"

"Yes. In the military we were taught that are gun is our girlfriend. No girlfriends in the military. But they teach you, Hey you, have fun! Have fun when you are young and travel, don't get married! On your birthday, they get a girlfriend for you."

"Wooow."

"Okay I've got to go. I like talking. I like you. I'll see you in a few weeks"

Lunch Day

Every Friday is "pizza lunch day" at my office. This weekly tradition involves large numbers of Minor Executives and Do Gooder Secretaries queueing up outside of Conference Room A ten minutes to 12:00. Lunch starts at 12 Noon and it is of the utmost importance that one make it to the land of slimy Italian salads before anyone else can. It is also an excellent excuse to waste 20 minutes of company time. Usually I sneak in before the crowd because I work for The Big Executive. The lunch is always the same:

1. Pizza - thin crust
2. Various Soft Drinks
3. Subway sandwiches of several varieties.
4. Italian salads

I don't understand why free food brings out the worst in everyone: secretaries touching other peoples' sandwiches, shoving, skipping line and grabbing. Sometimes I avoid it all together. Its just not worth it. BUT can I be so elitist as to turn my nose up at a free lunch? No!

Today has an added tension: its the Friday before Memorial Day, and our office has a 3:00 release. Days like this are considered a wash, so much so that certain members of our staff bring children into the office. Once The Woman On the Other Side of the Cube asked me to watch her 16 month old grandson while she went to the bathroom. Another time I found a toddler running past my cube with no adult supervision. She grabbed for me and I had to pick up the filthy beast. This isn't a picnic for goodness sakes, its an office. If I wanted to be around children, I would have taken the day off and volunteered in a nursery school! And I like children, I just don't like children in New York. Period. They don't belong here. Go to Westchester, Go to New Jersey, Go to Long Island I say! New York is no place for children!

The other day I was fantasizing with my boyfriend about how I wish New York had a policy of "no children allowed" at certain restaurants. It could be done tastefully with signs- perhaps a pacifier or a stroller with an X over it. Then all of the parents and children could congregate with each other at "family friendly restaurants" where they belong.

I can hear one squealing right now...

Activities of the Day

I'm back in the office after a minor hiatus, perhaps someday I'll write about it, but for now I would like to record what I've been up two in the two days since I've been back.

1. Spent many hours creating an evite for my 30th birthday party. It is a "Dallas" theme, so I downloaded pictures of J.R. Ewing, Southfork Ranch, and dollar symbols encrusted in diamonds, this represents "bling". I also began the planning, did you know that it only costs $175 to rent a margarita machine? Too bad I live on a 3rd floor walk up. I found an authentic Texas bbq place in Jackson Heights to provide the meat, but I think I'll make the sides myself. I might ditch the whole margarita idea for a "signature cocktail" I could call it The Dalla$ Dollar, or Oil Rush!

2. Finished a sock, listened to two podcasts.

3. Took a nap in my boss' office when he was out to lunch.

3. Caught up with everyone, all of the other Lazy Secretaries out there, sitting in silence, waiting for their phones to ring. Lazy Secretary Two and The Woman Across The Cube are both out. So its just me and my violet and the steady hum of the air conditioning.

Secretary's Day

This morning when I walked into my cube. I found a little pot full of half-withered pink African Violets. A gift for Secretary's Day.

Hm. I used to have another African violet, from another Secretary's Day years before, but just a few weeks ago, it finally died. Despite my attempts with food, water and a special place right under the florescent overhead light, the poor thing lost its original blooms to never bloom again-eventually wilting and then dying, its branches unable to hold the weight of this place. Each one drooping and then falling off.

I always wondered about that little plant. If it missed its home on the African rain forest floor. If it missed the soggy dampness and warmth and the other African violets. If it missed the way the soft rain must have felt on its leaves. It just couldn't thrive under these lights, this intense quiet punctuated by the cackling of The Woman on the Other Side of the Cube and the rattling of the air conditioning vents.

When I finally threw away my little plant's remains, instead of having a funeral, I celebrated, taking it as a sign that my tenure here would be coming to an end. I thought my ship was coming in.

But then this morning I received a replacement.

How much longer is this going to last? Why am I not content? What do I want?
I wish I knew.

Its all not so bad, this morning I picked up a set of mixing bowls I ordered from a secretary upstairs, a woman trying to start her own business, trying to get out. I'd of bought ten bowls from the saint. Looking at those gleaming white mixing bowls made me feel contented if just for a moment, reminding me that I would be home in eight or nine hours washing my new bowls in almond flavored dish soap. Then after that, I can start mixing! Perhaps I need to learn to delight in the little things. Yes!

But then I remember that for now I'm here, stuck in this isolation, this silence with nothing but a violet to keep me company. A violet and three white plastic bowls.

Maybe I should take my new friend home. With its little pink blooms. This violet deserves a chance.

Have I done anything

Its 5pm.

I get to leave this hell hole in half an hour...but right now, at this moment there is absolutely NOTHING to do.

I've spent the last two hours looking at Marthastewart.com.

My friend, Lazy Secretary Number Two and I went to the hot dog stand (after finding out that a hot dog only has 270 calories) to find that the hot dog vendor was gone. The pretzels, drinks, mustard and ketchup were all there, but no hot dog vendor. We just stood there waiting...and waiting...and nothing. I wonder where he went?

I feel a buzzing inside of my head from lack of stimulation.

So I decide to look up photographs of "adoptable dogs".

Oh God... my God. Why have I done such a thing?
I feel a bit like a barren woman must have during antiquity...my life has no meaning because I'm dogless. I'm a waste of space, basically a common criminal because my inability to produce a dog.

as if I wasn't depressed already...

I feel the lights above me sucking my brain bone dry. And I just want to go home.

Ten Minutes.

How should I fill it?

Silence, buzzing, silence.

Five Minutes.

The Woman Across the Cube is whispering to herself. Proud of her date with a 45 year old.
I nod in approval. My eyes glaze over.

Three Minutes.

Someone stops by the cube and says, "you look tired."

I'm exhausted and I've produced nothing.

One Minute.

I breathe. I get my jacket and leave.

Office Aesthetics

10:10 - Arrive at the office 40 minutes late and I am greeted in the elevator by The Laughing Accountant, obviously laughing, he says "HE HE HEY! You! Look at you, you missed it! There was a fire drill this morning and you missed it, we're all coming up from it now! Guess it pays to get in late. HAH!" He then nudges me and laughs even more. He means nothing. He's a kind person, the "Mayor of the Office" of you will. He sets up the office sports pools and collects money when someone gets married or has a baby. He even looks like a Buddha, with a shiny, shaved head and unfaltering grin.

How can he be so happy working in this shithole?

Our offices have the aesthetics of a DMV or worse. A clinic for the poor. The cubes were purchased second hand and are scratched and stained. Some try and make their cubes cheery by adding photographs, knick knacks, mirrors and lamps. My favorites are those who sell products via network marketing and leave catalogues on the edge of their cubes. I've flipped through many an Avon catalogue that way. The ancient, stained carpet is forest green and the walls are papered with something that looks like rice paper, but again is stained and frayed throughout. Perhaps it was purchased in New Jersey at a discount an d someone's cousin installed it.

Shall I mention the toilets?

There is a lock on the door, with a pass code. Just in case someone would be inclined to steal the industrial black toilet seat from the toilet bowl. Three sinks, three toilets and a mirror...and fluorescent lights of the worst caliber. These are the lights that make a 19 year old look 30 and a thirty year old...well, according to the 4th floor toilet, I'm ready for retirement.

The cliche of florescent lighting in an office is ancient, the worst of all of the offenses: in a windowless office, with no plants, artwork, or any nod to modern aesthetics, one would hope for a tiny bit of light, real light, to make this place less of a shithole. But alas, it is too much for one to hope for.

This brings me back to my original question...what makes The Laughing Accountant keep laughing?

What lucky stars does he thank for this job? I suppose we are paid well, and treated fairly, which is why we all stay, but I don't, no I can't laugh about it.

The Minor Executive

10:00 - Arrive in the office (half an hour late). My boss isn't here. No harm no foul.

No voicemail to answer.
No email to respond to.
Proceed to www.brocantehome.com and relax...my mind takes me far away from this hole. I'm drifting along, daydreaming about being at home....doing anything really, petting the cat, lighting candles, knitting, embroidering. My mind locks in on something really important: the vintage fabric that my cousin gave me on Easter Sunday. Pondering that project, I navigate to www.craftster.org and my mind begins to spin with possibility. Should I make picture frames with it? Maybe I should frame some of the fabric pieces and give the "framed fabric" to my cousin as a gift.

The phone doesn't ring, no work email comes in, so...

I send email back and forth with the other lazy secretaries.

11:25
The Minor Executive enters. She is wearing a turtleneck, jacket, short pleated skirt and tights--her voice is especially high and reminds me of a nursery school teacher. In fact, everything about her reminds me of a person who makes their living working with autistic children. She's not quite as old as The Woman on the Other Side of the Cube, but she is round and warm with dark little teeth.

The Woman on the Other Side of the Cube cackles and screams, "HELLO, YOU!!!"

The Minor Executive asks with great warmth and wonderment, "Guess who helped me get a deal last week? Guess who is going to get rewarded for it?"

TWOTOSOTC, jumps up and says, "Me?"

TME responds as if speaking to an imbecile, "Uhhh huhhh! Thank you so much for your help with the mailing!"

They share an embrace. This embrace involves hugs, cheek kisses and mutual flopping up and down. This is what happens when old secretaries hug.

Will I be an old, lazy secretary someday?
Chills run up and down my spine.

I return to my daydreams and sigh. And try to not talk to myself.

The Lazy Secretary

Welcome to the Lazy Secretary Blog.

I am the executive assistant to a "BIG EXECUTIVE" in Manhattan.

9:45 - Arrive at the office (late)

9:46 - Check voicemail. I have 1 message.

9:48 - Resolve issue.

9:49 - Check my work email. 2 messages.

9:53 - Resolve those issues.

10:00 - The woman on the other side of my cube cackles. And everyday she screams the same line : MURDER.

10:01 - Check Ebay. Why? No reason. What am I looking for? Nothing.

10:28 - Personal Email. No real messages yet. Only spam. Click and clear.

10:37- My boss whizzes past me with an iced coffee and a paper under his arm. He slams the door, locks it and says "I need ten minutes". My cube starts to smell like cigarette smoke.

11:15 - The first phone call of the day! Frantically I come out of my daze..."Big Executive's Office!" I chirp. Sadly, The Big Executive picks up the line before I can take a message. I sigh and go back to my holding position. My mind numbed like a pencil that's been worn down to the nub...almost rendered useless due to a lack of sharpening. I'm so tired. I want to lay my head on the desk. I wish I lived in Spain, so that I could have a Siesta to look forward too.

11:20 - The woman on the other side of the cube begins her daily running commentary. She cackles again and starts talking. I wish to be excruciatingly clear: The Woman On the Other Side of the Cube has NO INTEREST in talking to me or anyone in particular. She just talks to make sounds. She laughs to fill the space. She's been a Lazy Secretary much longer than me, so maybe there is some reasoning behind her jabbering. But I couldn't say for certain. Here's what it sounds like:

"Where. Okay lets take care of this...where...hmmm...the Rolodex...maybe the girl upstairs has it....I wonder what she did with...oh for God's sake...here it is. Welcome to the lunatic asylum. I suppose I should just call. No...that's what I need. Its for the present. Hmmm.... (pause. silence.) HA HA HA HA HA HA (cackling). No he wants the other....I'm running around like a chicken with its head cut off. Well....the English isn't too great lets see what happens"

I begin to get annoyed. My fingers tense up. I slip my "noise blocker" headphones on (purchased primarily for this purpose) and direct myself to Etsy.com. Then all of a sudden I hear a whistle and then a faint "yoohoo". And the chunks begin to rise in my already tightened throat. Its her. I take the headphones out.

11:35

Lazy Secretary: Yes?

The Woman on the Other Side of the Cube: Yoo Hoo? Hello? Can I have access to your computah (note: she has a Staten Island accent) after hours?

LS: What?

TWOTOSOTC: Your computah? I have some work to do for THE MINOR EXECUTIVE so I need to get on your computah after hours. I don't have the same programs that you do on my computah.

LS: I don't know.

TWOTOSOTC: She doesn't know. Well do you have "THE SEMI RELEVANT PROGRAM?"

LS: No.

TWOTOSOTC: Oh. Well never mind. Forget it.

One of these days I'm going to scream at her. I've been on the other side of the cube from her for almost 3 years and I never have. But one of these days....