Death By Ballet Flat

Whoa. I actually had to do work this morning! I scheduled two meetings! I ordered Easy a car service! I printed something!

What qualifies as “work” differs only slightly from every other day, which I spend reading the entire internet and Google chatting with my mom.

I had to attend a new-employee compliance meeting about insider trading and how to avoid it. My attendance was laughable – I’m relatively certain that insider trading requires at least some knowledge of TRADING, which I distinctly lack. I have a barely-passing grasp of how Nice Hedge Fund operates as it is. So I doodled and made my packing list for the shore this weekend. A far better use of my time, I’d say.

I woke up this morning a few minutes before my alarm went off and couldn’t believe that it was time to get up. It was pouring outside, the kind of day where I’d like to pull on a hoodie, curl up on my sofa with a stack of movies and eat grilled cheese with tomato soup. Instead, I’m freezing my nips off in the office, and the goosebumps on my legs are making me realize that I did a crappy shaving job this morning. I’m dressed like something ripped out of the J. Crew catalog with my matching madras headband/belt/shoes. Soon I’ll be ready for my yacht!

Ok, venting time. I’m about ready to chuck my cute madras shoe at the guy who sits behind me. He has been on the phone with some airfare company (Orbitz, I think) for the past HOUR because he opened a new account to order a plane ticket but then realized he already had an account. Or something like that. He’s tried every excuse – faulty computer system, void the ticket, merge the two accounts blah blah blah. I don’t understand what the Big F-ing Deal is, he’s got his ticket, let it go! His only real problem is that he's one whine away from being pummelled by footwear for his excessive volume. Take it down a notch, Loud Guy, use your inside voice. He sits a good ten feet away with his back to me, so there is no way his voice should project as violently as it does. I can’t even make eye contact with C, who sits next to me, or we’ll both crack up. Finally he finishes sniveling about his airfare account, hangs up the phone...and calls one of his Dude Bros to relay the whole saga.

Hurling shoe in five…four…three…