Pumped for Work!

Why I continue to subject myself to daily humiliation is beyond me. Last week at work we had to switch out all holiday decorations for Valentine's gear, our biggest day of the year. My task? Break down and pack up all of the Christmas stuff (there wasn't an inch of Jewish or Kwanzaa in the joint). The sweet 23-year old who I work with's? Conceptualize and create a new window design. My daily to-do's? Clean buckets, prep flowers, take walk-ins (wrapping loose flowers in our signature purple tissue and issuing the point of sale). My college graduate superior's? Create arrangements for sale in the front cooler and fill the odd customer vase order.

Here's how we rack up:

Abbey vase arrangements? 4 or 5 (they've been so far apart it's like the memory of my last dentist appointment - didn't go well and I'd like to forget it).

"Superior" - 30. Minimum. And they look straight-up professional.

My last arrangement, which I attempted Friday between sweeping the floor of 1000 descarded stems and a pile of buckets 25 deep, had my boss saying, "Hmmm . . . it looks a little like it's dying."

I wish I was kidding. (Personally, I blame the flowers, as the only ones in the price range I was going for were quite mealy.)

Kind of leads me to the point of what am I doing here? Clearly this is not a natural talent of mine. And yet, with instruction and practice so few and far between (I've been working 12 weeks; that's 1 arrangement every 3 weeks or so - I'd be doing better after a 1 day course at the Milwaukee School of Flower Design), how could I possibly be good at this? And someone's got to do the buckets, the floors, the packaging, the cleaning, the in-store sales. "Superior" is just faster and better when the opportunity arises to make those arrangements. In the spirit of efficiency and business, I understand my learning loses. 

Kind of a catch-22. I'm not sure if I want to address this for the 3rd time with my boss, as I feel comfortable, at the ripe old age of almost-30, admitting my friend Laura's kind words as truth ("Maybe you weren't meant to be a florist"). We're certainly not all going to be good at everything we try! Asking for more work when I know there's no future in it feels like I am wasting time, spinning my wheels. And ultimately, wasting my boss's time training someone who truly does not see a future in this.

Thoughts? Quitting is not only not a financially sound decision, it just feels like admitting failure. Every job I've left in the past has been for another one (except when I wrote that book, ye olde Palm Bitch. I still love that title).

If you were in my shoes, what would you do?

Yoga Pain

As part of my 2010 resolutions, I promised to get some yoga into my life. So I did just that on Wednesday, 11 AM, at Invivo Wellness, a local upscale gym. The yoga studio was really nice - two floor-to-ceiling walls of windows overlooking the Milwaukee River, frozen, snowcovered and tranquil. I set myself up on a mat and prepared for the class. Which immediately started out with the woman next to me loudly passing gas.

I told Jon later that day and he started cackling, asking if I laughed out loud. I did not, though I congratulated myself on being more in shape than my gassy neighbor. Until we were about 1/3 of the way through our poses and reality set in. "For those of you who would like to, feel free to use the bricks as support." Feeling free had nothing to do with it. My hands wouldn't have made it past my hips without the assistance of the damn strap, bricks and the large column I conveniently placed myself next to. Holy Christ, was I in pain. At one point, I was supposed to wrap both arms around a twisted knee, one leg in the air, my waist turned in the opposite direction, and lock my arms behind my back. I'm still confused as I write this.

Result? I've been in head to toe pain for a full day now. Every. Muscle. Hurts. I wish I was kidding. This reminds me of the first time I did yoga, the day before my friend Sass's wedding. 'Hah, I can do this.' I thought, 'Yoga is just stretching'. And then competition set in - must do every pose exactly as the instructor does. 24 hours later? I could barely lift my own drink (simply tragic, at a wedding).

Swap the sun of Newport with the freezing snow of Milwaukee and that day is today. Parts of my body that I thought were bone ache. Hello, ribs. 'The plan' was to take a class Thursday, Friday and possibly this weekend, jet-setting me off into a new health routine. Oh, HELL no. Yesterday didn't happen, today's off and I'm pretty sure Saturday and Sunday will involve sweatpants and a mat-tress. With pillows and a decidedly less flexible person sitting beside me (though I am sure he will rival and surpass her on the gas front).

Since I'm not quite back to the stage where changing my own pants brings me near tears, I'm going to assume this is a move in the right, albeit painful, direction. Beauty is pain. I must remember this.

Though chunky and comfortable is sounding pret-ty sweet right now.

I Shot Myself In The Foot With This One

"This is now a real Wisconsin winter, though we're missing the snow."

What an a-hole. Check out the view outside our bedroom window at 8:00 AM this morning. This photo does not adequately convey the amount of snow on the ground nor what's coming down so thick it's like a coating of Houston's dog fur every time a flake touches something solid. Yikes.

It took 25 minutes to drive 2 miles and there were two near misses with parked cars. Rita needs a winter wardrobe, specifically in the shoe department.

Forecast January 7th:

Accumulations should reach 8 to 10 inches . . . Northerly winds will develop later Thursday afternoon . . . resulting in blowing and drifting snow. North to northeast winds will increase to 15 to 20 MPH with gusts to 30 MPH this evening. . . Severe winter weather conditions are expected or occurring [duh]. . . that will make travel dangerous.

Welcome to Wisconsin!

P.S. 30 MPH winds?! It's currently 20 degrees. That's like thousands of tiny flying ice picks stabbed into your eyeballs at the speed of a car!

And Why You Should Not See Revolutionary Road

Yesterday Jon picked me up at work (even though it's just a three block walk, the wind has made the 10 steps to the car painful. My boss also announced that 'this' is now a real Wisconsin winter, though we're missing the snow.). Jon handed me a piece of paper with a photo of Amy Adams and Matthew Goode (the handsome brother from "Match Point" who dates Scarlett Johanssen before the crazy dude from The Tudors steals her.). Turns out the secretary at his work, famous for her calling schemes to local radio stations for anything in a giveaway, had won two free tickets to see "Leap Year" and offered them to Jon.

We trek 25 minutes out to Brookfield, which is in the middle of nowhere. I mean, really. The city looks pointless. It's so cold Jon is in his usual non-work outfit of head to toe sweat materials and I am wearing a hand-me-down fur coat. It's vintage in style and fact (over 60 years old), hits me just at the knee, with bell sleeves and the original lining intact. It was a gift and I love it. [Fur haters (and I understand your stance), the poor animal that did not live for this coat, has now gone on to lead a much longer life than nature intended. Further than that, we can agree to disagree.]

This coat is the sartorial version of wearing a furnace strapped to my body. It's amazing. Jon wants me to get down on all furs and see how Houston reacts, but since the thing's so old, clearly doesn't smell like an animal, and will just look like me in a coat, I don't think she's going to care. He's also jealous that a fur on a man is not only 'not PC,' but beyond flamboyant.

Clearly we are dressed to impress. We arrive at the Majestic Theater, an old theater that has been converted into a multiplex with restaurants. Not the Sbarro counter, but restaurants. We get in line because it appears everyone in the state of Wisconsin has decided to see a movie tonight. Mind you, it's 40 minutes before showtime. And guess what? The show sold out of the free tickets at 6:00 PM. AN HOUR AND A HALF before it started. On a Tuesday. Because there's nothing else to do.

So we take our sweatpants and old fur back to Rita and drive home and watch Revolutionary Road on TV. Um, holy crap was that a serious movie. Where was the warning sign for "depressing content"? Someone actually told me they really liked that movie. Are you crazy?! Kate Winslet should pick something lighthearted next time. Revolutionary Road and The Reader in one year? Having a conversation about her work was probably like throwing yourself in front of an oncoming train.

Jon and I were traumatized. We promptly went to bed, speechless. And then slept through Jon's alarm this morning, thereby missing his squash date, obviously still scarred from the movie.

The kicker? Walking downstairs, I discovered Houston had crapped on the living room rug.

Jeez, that movie took a toll on all of us.

#8

#8. Turn 30 with grace and poise . . . and fewer wrinkles, courtesy of miracle dermatological solution worth firstborn child.

It's pretty much my only birthday request.

Jon refuses.

Rude!

Such as "Wear More Belts"

Taking a cue from my dear friend Anne (who is currently lounging on a beach in Hawaii watching whales breach with a maitai in hand), my resolutions for 2010 will be to add more to my life, rather than diminish it.

Anne resolution circa 2006? "Wear more belts." Priceless.

Here are mine for 2010:

1. Spend more time pursuing my favorite things to do: writing, reading, any and all things home design related, and less time ruining brain cells on terrible reality television, etc.

2. Get this traitor of a back in shape. Yoga, chiropractor, physical therapist, granny-style Sleep by Number bed - whatever it takes. (Perhaps this may lead to a shrinking of the blubber bubble around my middle? One can only hope.)

3. Get more education, whether that's a class or full-fledged school once we land Down South. Yikes! Just the thought gets me nervous.

4. Do something that scares me. Not 'swim with sharks' kind of action, more along the lines of trying something different and new that forces moi to grow. Swimming with sharks does nothing but feed aquatic dinosaurs, which is why I rarely venture into the ocean. This should make living in Florida quite "the situation."

5. As always, be a better daughter and friend. I have a physical aversion to the phone and it's flat-out childish.

6. Drink nicer wine. Savor the good stuff (in smaller and fewer sips). That's my rationale and I'm sticking to it.

7. Get at least one of these done. And not counting #6.

What are yours?

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