It’s been quiet around here since my husband took to the road. Quiet, I mean, in the literal sense. My man is not only a TV addict but hard of hearing, so when he’s at home the house is filled with sound. We have developed a system over the years, in which I get up early in the morning and tuck myself into the sofa with a book or my pages until Drew comes in and turns on the TV, at which time I gather my stuff and move upstairs to the bedroom—or just get on with my day, elsewhere. I am always on the run from that godawful noise.
But last night I had to turn on the debate and see how Obama would do this time around. (Does anyone else want to slap that condescending smirk off Romney’s face? His big claim in support of women’s rights is this apparently dogged hunt for employable women. He found binders full! What a guy!) Anyway, politics aside, after the debate I decided to channel surf and see what else was on. There are so many options, I thought surely there would be something interesting to watch, sandwiched between the talent shows and Lifetime movies.
What I discovered instead of watchable television is that we Americans are obsessed with other people’s jobs. There are shows about truckers, fishermen, auctioneers, hair stylists, miners, pickers, decorators, paramedics, factory workers, chefs, loggers, biologists, ghost hunters, and, my personal favorite, the exterminators. We just can’t get enough.
I could star in a reality show and make a shitload of money. The title could be Bunny Slippers, or maybe Bedroom Nightmares. The production team could save a bundle by running the film on a loop: Me, staring off into space. Me, scratching my ass. Me typing, cursing, deleting. And back to the staring into space bit.
What do you look like at work?
- Photograph by Annie Liebowitz
You do crack me up. And that photo is the frosting on smirk.
Oy vey, Mitt Romney. My twitter feed was hilarious last night and I think one could call what it did to me when Romney said “binders full of women” a Twitter Pearl Necklace.
I forgot to duck.
At work I’m all business. Pumps, a tidy corporate uniform of black pants, black shell, a cardigan of some color that isn’t too in your face. A bra sometimes with both underwires still intact. Usually conservative earrings, reading glasses and my signature red lipstick because my freak flag can’t be entirely stifled.
Sigh, I miss the days of sitting in my own filth wearing lipstick.
I’m dying. The pearl necklace! Don’t try to duck, Lisa, you’ll get the full-on Romney right in the face.
he also said he supported “wind jobs.” i haven’t seen anyone pick up on that yet.
Oh, that’s a gem. How did we miss it?
Me, drinking iced tea and staring at the screen.
The answers are all right there. Just keep staring into the light. . . .
At the library, I wear slacks and sleeveless shells in microfilm toner-coordinated colors, plus a cardigan or jersey wrap in off colors and one of four pairs of flats.
At home, I wear cropped yoga pants, oversized tees with weird saying on them and no shoes if at all possible. And my huge black-framed glasses.
Sexy librarian glasses! Nice.
They need to do a show in a big city library. Between the hot librarians and the on-the-edge patrons, you’ve got a runaway hit on your hands.
Last night one of the strange undecided voters on MSNBC, a woman who seemed about twenty-five, said she was leaning toward Romney despite him avoiding the question about equal pay for equal work. She said he had to get us all back to work first. Then he can take care of the other stuff.
I don’t want to slap Romney as much as I want to slap her.
It baffles me how anyone can be undecided at this point. I think those people are hoping there will be a bonus prize in the end if they hold out long enough.
I’m going to start wearing a costume so if you ask me again, I can tell you something interesting. Oh– wait– sometimes I take my pants off and wrap myself in a blanket. I don’t know why. Maybe I can think better without my pants on. I like to sit cross-legged. (Or maybe they’re too small?)
The Young and the Pantsless.
Do the undies come off too? Inquiring minds want to know.
Hmmm…currently dockers and a sweater. And most likely talking, sighing in exasperation, and laughing, in that order, and always surrounded by 20-30 sixteen-year-olds.
Talking: class that does everything I say to the T (first period, they’re too tired to resist).
Sighing: class that is half apathetic and half intellectual (mid-morning), alternately getting us all off, on, and back off topic.
Laughing: class of jokers that tries only to make me laugh at any cost (afternoon, before lunch, when the crazies come out). If they tried that hard at a little schoolwork, they’d shock themselves with decent grades!
What fun you’re having, wrangling all those wild animals at the zoo. You’ve got such a great attitude about your work, Jennine.
My ten-year-old is upstairs getting ready for school; he is constitutionally unable to make a move without adding a sound effect. He’d be popping in and out of my Bunny Slippers reality show, for comic relief.
Lol, yes kids are great at the comic relief. On bad days, that third class of mine always makes me laugh. They’re too nice and funny to stay mad.
And I have a little decorative pillow on my classroom window that says “Experence wildlife, Teach school.”
It’s not pretty. And the UPS man can attest. He’s a good sport and I don’t judge him for standing WELL outside the door if signing is required.
I hope the UPS man will be visiting me soon, as I’ve just ordered The Mermaid Collector and can’t wait to start reading.
XO
I wear a fucking bright fire-engine red apron.
All day every day I have to wrap my body in the companies advertizement while I make pretty with tabletop shit people want to buy. Can you tell I hate my job. Actually I like the job it’s the customers I can’t stand, they are rude, arrogant and they smell of Charmin. I know that because I have to kiss their asses all day long.
I know, why don’t I tell you what I really think?
What I really think is when Romney said the women in his binders had to get home early to cook dinner for their family’s I almost choked on my Orville Redenbachers. Mitt-mogul is one of those arrogant Charmin fragranced bastards. How anyone female would vote for that man is beyond me.
how anyone of any sex with any sense would vote for him is a mystery to me.
“With any sense” being the key phrase in that statement. In a sensible world, Romney would get about 1% of the vote.
It depends.
At the office I look like an office worker: white long-sleeved Oxford all-cotton button-downs, neckties in corporate shades, navy-blue or gray or olive pants, black belt with a gold-colored buckle, shined black Rockport Capitals; underneath are gray socks, white briefs, and a gray t-shirt; over in cold weather are a black Greek fisherman’s cap, black leather jacket, and black gloves. Sometimes a sweater. This morning a sky-blue “Enterprise Automation Group” sweatshirt, though I did not work on that project.
At the writing desk I look like whatever I look like when I’m writing. Right now I look like an office worker dressed down for the day’s second shift at the writing desk.
Back in the day, I used to strip out of my business clothes from the inside out, starting with those maddening pantyhose, and pulling the bra out from under my blouse. I’d make dinner in what was left of the day’s costume without so much as a pair of skivvies underneath. That second shift was such a relief.
I’m cluttered at work. My desk is a mess and so is my office. People walk in and I feel like I should apologize, but I don’t know what to do with the stuff. Oh and I’m cute. That works as an answer too, right?
I skipped the debate, but Facebook and twitter told me in minute detail what I missed.
I can’t bear to hear the aftermath of this shit, all the endless dissection. MSNBC is as annoying as Fox these days, with every host just teeing up the guest to spout the issue’s agreed-upon talking points. You’ve got the right idea, getting your news from outside the bubble.
The cuteness works as an answer, yes indeed. Those toes alone are charming as hell.
At the day job, I’m all suits and frenzy mixed with moments of absolutely nothing going on. It’s an all or nothing job.
For the night writing, I’m hunched over, wrists bent in a way that can’t be good as I type until the typos outweigh the fraught words and I call it a night.
Can I tell you how much I love that picture of Susan Sontag? I imagine that’s the same expression I have when I’m writing, a mixture of irritation and desperation. I need to get me one of those bear costumes for work.
I wonder whose idea the bear suit was: Susan’s or Annie’s?
This week I’ve moved my “office”, after 5 long years, from the dining room table to a spare bedroom upstairs. There is barely room for my ergonomic chair; I’m using a bedside table for a desk (it’s not much bigger than my laptop); I can barely move in there. I wish I’d done this long ago. I am literally sitting in a corner.
Anyhoo. I rarely shower and try not to wash my hair until it’s so nasty I can’t stand it anymore. If it’s baggy and old and falling apart, I’m wearing it. Like Erika above ….. my poor UPS man. I never wear shoes, not even bunny slippers, Averil. I don’t like shoes Sam-I-Am and would go barefoot forever if I could. I have a giant glass of water on hand. I get nervous if there’s no water.
Vanilla. That’s what I am. And not even vanilla bean. Just vanilla.
i can’t help your move from the dining room to the spare bedroom is somehow metaphorical…like maybe you’ve gone from needing to be nurtured by the process to a guest in the process ready to look at it w/ fresh eyes? i don’t know, it’s 1:34 a.m. and i was just awaken by my son; i have very little chance of making any real sense.
Interesting. I think we move spaces when something shifts in our inner world, like we’re rearranging the furniture internally and need to address that in a physical way. I think this means something, Teri, and I think it’s something good.
Either that or you’ve put yourself in time-out.
XO
i leave the house looking presentable and by lunchtime, when i’m checking out my front and back in the poorly lighted work bathrooms, i realize i probably should have worn something to smooth out my backside and brought more goop to hide the half-assed circles under my eyes.
i was thinking about all the shows about (mostly) men doing work outdoors and in the cold. my husband is a sucker for any of them filmed in alaska (i sit next to him typing or reading, avoiding the screen at all costs). i was thinking about how in each of the episodes, there is always this contrived sense of urgency…of something bad could possibly happen, but it never does. because the reality is that if something really gruesome did happen, one of those trees actually falling on and killing one of those annoying loggers, or one of those semi trucks actually falling through some crack in the iced over earth somewhere…if any of that happened, they wouldn’t show it. and that it’s that contrived sense of something bad could happen–but never does–that gives the show its fake climax. just like a sitcom where everything gets fixed in 30 minutes.
i don’t have a final hypothesis for this. it was my observation. they keep pretending like something bad is going to happen, then it doesn’t. and everybody’s not mad again (i’d say happy, but none of those fuckers every seem truly happy). maybe it’s a metaphorical statement on work in the 21st century and the jobs we keep and how none of it really fucking matters. or maybe i just need to go back to bed.
I love having you back in the blogosphere. Full on. No filter. Yes ma’am I do!!!!
This is right in line with my theory that much of what is wrong with first-world culture is that we don’t HAVE to do much of anything. We’re not fighting for our lives or even our livelihoods, so we manufacture the drama in order to keep our primal selves alive in there. We’re fighting to survive our own apathy.
“We’re fighting to survive our own apathy.”
sometimes you’re just plain brilliant, averil.
*blushes*
One word, Averil… T.V. Ears!
Aha!!!
For writing I am highly unpresentable and love it that way. Old sweaters, worn uggs, messy hair and glasses. Not a sight for lovers!
Actually that sounds scruffily sexy. I do like an ugg.
To answer your question… whatever I happen to have on. No special writing comfort outfit. But, I don’t write like you guys do, at least not as a profession, so it’s kind of hit or miss for me. I did just write a story as part of a Fiction Relay… I wrote part 4. Here it is, in case anyone is interested… you might some familiar faces… http://tedstrutz.com/2012/10/17/fiction-relay-4/
You had to say ‘butternut squash ravioli’. My favorite of favorites. Now I’ve got to hunt down a Lean Cuisine for lunch today.
Nice job, Ted!
Don’t laugh. I think you’re onto something. A reality show based on aspiring writers. I don’t watch television but that’s something I’d tune into.
I’m a schlump. Jeans, tee-shirt, clogs. I wear an apron when I’m scrubbing the toilets, to give me an air of professionalism.
I think Betsy’s place is our writerly reality show. That’s about as real as it gets.
Pajama bottoms, tank top, bare feet when editing; pants, button-down shirt, hair clips when working in the world.
Toenail polish, or bare toes?
In summer, polished; in winter, bare; other seasons, depends on my mood.