WARNING: I’ve been to the beach lately. The JackieOh Happiness Quotient is still through the roof.
Happy Wednesday that feels like Tuesday, lovers! I’m offering up this sacrificial staple-remover to the Gods of Four Day work weeks because this one is going to be a doozy.
I feel like a nomad around Nice Hedge Fund. I’ve barely chosen my computer desktop photograph down here in the HR Nook before I’m getting moved again. (As usual it’s one of the gazillion shots I have of me and Coach G.) Tomorrow I’m starting my third job in the past month here: Executive Assistant to…the President and Co-Chairman of Nice Hedge Fund. The Son of Mr. Nice Hedge Fund.
Um, what?
I’m not quite sure how this happened. His assistant quit, they need a body in that seat, and something about my flip-flop-wearing, online-chatting, internet-bike-shopping work ethic made me right for the job? I better pick up my dry cleaning and sharpen my Blackberry typing skills. This has potential to be ARM déjà vu.
In all honesty, I’m not worried about it. A) I have one foot out the door already – actually, it’s more like an entire leg. It’ll be tough to get too worked up about a job when the end date is so near. B) I sat next to C for so many months and paid attention, so I know what to expect. And C), I like Son of Mr. Nice Hedge Fund. He gave me baseball tickets to see the Phillies play/lose to the Mets back in April. He’s an Ironman. He solved my Rubik’s cube. How bad could it be?
I'll let you know.
Ow, ow, my skin. I spent a gorgeous Memorial Day weekend at the FamilyOh shore house with my wonderful running friends and the inevitable sunburn was worth every second on the beach. On Saturday morning, Coach G and I competed in a relay triathlon – we won! I thought I was going to die in the swim leg of the race because the water was too cold to submerge my face so all of my pool training these last six weeks went right out the window. Once I went numb I was able to get into a workable rhythm, and in the end the only casualty was my digital watch. The bike leg went really well despite a brutal headwind, and G kicked butt on the final beach run. It was a great feeling to have my friends and MomOh cheering for us along the way. When it was time to receive our award (boxes of Hammergels and a bike shop gift certificate, sweet!), the announcer called out “Team Drinkin’ for the Kids…a noble cause!” Indeed. We had some kayaking adventures with dolphins, several cutthroat games of bocce ball, even more games of darts, a dance party at a favorite local bar, a seafood feast, and lot of laughs from turning Cranium into a drinking game. I couldn’t have asked for a better weekend! So now, naturally, I’m counting down the moments until I can go back.
I spent last weekend with friends from running world, but this upcoming weekend will be all about bike world. Tonight and Sunday I’m racing on the Velodrome in Queens, and on Saturday I’m racing in Central Park. Thank goodness for QZ lending me a bike or else I’d be a wreck right now. Wish me luck!
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Monday, May 19, 2008
The Burglary
I have had four True Loves in my life so far. The oldest and truest has been, of course, The Beach. Now that the FamilyOh has a shore house, I feel like Beach and I are entering a more permanent and stable relationship, like a kind of marriage that will only get better with time.
True Love number two is Running. It's an abusive relationship, and while we're not seeing each other right now I can't quite let go of it. Most of my adult life and relationships have been somehow defined by Running. I need him, and I know I'll go back to him someday. I always do.
My third True Love is probably the most intricate relationship: New York City. We have a tough sort of love, one that makes me a better person because the city opened me up to food, culture and people I would have never eaten, seen or met otherwise. I've made the difficult decision to leave New York City in July and do my own thing in Maryland for a while, but ours is the kind of love where I'll always hope we can come back to each other in the future.
Cycling is my newest love, and we're still in those delicious early stages full of exciting firsts. We started off a little rocky back in 2006 when I was first learning to ride (ah, the ass bruise), but then our friendship developed in the second half of 2007 and now here I am falling in love instead of just falling down. It's funny how things work out that way sometimes.
So, dear readers, I have been heartbroken since early Friday morning. My lovely little Midtown apartment was burglarized on Thursday night when I was out at QZ's. No sign of forced entry, no fingerprints, no evidence. And the motherfucker stole my bike (among other things). I feel so angry toward the anonymous "they" who violated my home and shattered my sense of security. Being robbed is an exercise in the passive voice: my apartment was broken into, my belongings were stolen. But worst of all is how betrayed I feel by New York. I imagined how hard it would be to move but this is unforgivable and now my trust in this city is gone. I slept at QZ's place all weekend because every stray sound makes me jump and every footstep in the stairwell is coming upstairs to break in again. Replaying the What Ifs doesn't help either - what if we stayed at my place on Thursday night? Would this have still happened? Or would it have happened much, much worse?
And so I'm heartbroken. My third love betrayed me and stole away the means to my fourth love. Yes, I'm upset at the loss of all of my pictures, writing and music files that were on my laptop, and really, Burglar(s), did you have to steal my Netflix DVDs? That's just an inconvenience and for the record they were episodes of Freaks and Geeks. Oh, but my bike, my baby. It was the first big thing I ever bought for myself and I rode him with pride. Sure, I'll get a new bike, a lighter, fancier one now that I know how much I love this sport. But I always counted on having that one, even as I planned on upgrading in the future.
Like all True Loves, I hope my bike finds a good home with someone who loves him the way I did. As for me, I'm saying my prayers for the new deadbolt on my door and hoping that adage about lightning never striking twice is true.
True Love number two is Running. It's an abusive relationship, and while we're not seeing each other right now I can't quite let go of it. Most of my adult life and relationships have been somehow defined by Running. I need him, and I know I'll go back to him someday. I always do.
My third True Love is probably the most intricate relationship: New York City. We have a tough sort of love, one that makes me a better person because the city opened me up to food, culture and people I would have never eaten, seen or met otherwise. I've made the difficult decision to leave New York City in July and do my own thing in Maryland for a while, but ours is the kind of love where I'll always hope we can come back to each other in the future.
Cycling is my newest love, and we're still in those delicious early stages full of exciting firsts. We started off a little rocky back in 2006 when I was first learning to ride (ah, the ass bruise), but then our friendship developed in the second half of 2007 and now here I am falling in love instead of just falling down. It's funny how things work out that way sometimes.
So, dear readers, I have been heartbroken since early Friday morning. My lovely little Midtown apartment was burglarized on Thursday night when I was out at QZ's. No sign of forced entry, no fingerprints, no evidence. And the motherfucker stole my bike (among other things). I feel so angry toward the anonymous "they" who violated my home and shattered my sense of security. Being robbed is an exercise in the passive voice: my apartment was broken into, my belongings were stolen. But worst of all is how betrayed I feel by New York. I imagined how hard it would be to move but this is unforgivable and now my trust in this city is gone. I slept at QZ's place all weekend because every stray sound makes me jump and every footstep in the stairwell is coming upstairs to break in again. Replaying the What Ifs doesn't help either - what if we stayed at my place on Thursday night? Would this have still happened? Or would it have happened much, much worse?
And so I'm heartbroken. My third love betrayed me and stole away the means to my fourth love. Yes, I'm upset at the loss of all of my pictures, writing and music files that were on my laptop, and really, Burglar(s), did you have to steal my Netflix DVDs? That's just an inconvenience and for the record they were episodes of Freaks and Geeks. Oh, but my bike, my baby. It was the first big thing I ever bought for myself and I rode him with pride. Sure, I'll get a new bike, a lighter, fancier one now that I know how much I love this sport. But I always counted on having that one, even as I planned on upgrading in the future.
Like all True Loves, I hope my bike finds a good home with someone who loves him the way I did. As for me, I'm saying my prayers for the new deadbolt on my door and hoping that adage about lightning never striking twice is true.
Friday, May 9, 2008
That Makes Me the New One
Yesterday was my first full day working downstairs in the HR Department. The girls I work with are fun, they know all the good gossip, and they have an entire drawer full of cookies and candy. There are five of them down here: The Preppy One, the Tiffany & Co. One, the Loud One, the Quiet One, and The Boss. They wear good jewelry; carry pretty purses; compliment cute shoes; and write notes on colorful, flower-shaped post-its. I’m in love.
But the best part of working in the HR alcove has to be the private bathroom. Private bathroom! No more playing the quiet waiting game if someone else comes into the restroom when you’re doing your business! It’s incredible.
So far I’ve just been doing a lot of filing. As some of you may recall, I hate filing. I went months on end without filing a single document for ARM, and I’ve probably done even less filing for the Easys et al. in these past eleven months. Printing labels, fighting with those plastic sleevey things, getting terrible paper cuts from manila file folders…I hate it all. I do, however, enjoy alphabetizing things, and I get to read everyone’s salaries and other Top Secret Information so it’s not all bad. And shredding all the unwanted Top Secret Documents is pretty fun as well. I look at the offering agreements and see the pile of zeros at the end of some of the salaries and think, wow, I will NEVER see that amount of money in my life. Perhaps I need to tweak my Life Plan to be a little less College Creative Writing Teacher and a little more Trophy Wife.
Tonight, despite the fact that it’s raining cats and dogs outside, QZ and I are going to a barbecue with his cycling buddies. The discussion topics will surely not veer far from bike world (who bought what new gruppo, how so-and-so pro did in the latest tour de whatever, the team strategy for Sunday’s Bear Mountain Race…) and while I’m picking up enough of the lingo to translate, I don’t have much to add to the conversation. So I baked a marble pound cake with chocolate icing, and if that doesn’t say “This chick’s a keeper even if she doesn’t know her own bike’s gearing” I don’t know what will.
But the best part of working in the HR alcove has to be the private bathroom. Private bathroom! No more playing the quiet waiting game if someone else comes into the restroom when you’re doing your business! It’s incredible.
So far I’ve just been doing a lot of filing. As some of you may recall, I hate filing. I went months on end without filing a single document for ARM, and I’ve probably done even less filing for the Easys et al. in these past eleven months. Printing labels, fighting with those plastic sleevey things, getting terrible paper cuts from manila file folders…I hate it all. I do, however, enjoy alphabetizing things, and I get to read everyone’s salaries and other Top Secret Information so it’s not all bad. And shredding all the unwanted Top Secret Documents is pretty fun as well. I look at the offering agreements and see the pile of zeros at the end of some of the salaries and think, wow, I will NEVER see that amount of money in my life. Perhaps I need to tweak my Life Plan to be a little less College Creative Writing Teacher and a little more Trophy Wife.
Tonight, despite the fact that it’s raining cats and dogs outside, QZ and I are going to a barbecue with his cycling buddies. The discussion topics will surely not veer far from bike world (who bought what new gruppo, how so-and-so pro did in the latest tour de whatever, the team strategy for Sunday’s Bear Mountain Race…) and while I’m picking up enough of the lingo to translate, I don’t have much to add to the conversation. So I baked a marble pound cake with chocolate icing, and if that doesn’t say “This chick’s a keeper even if she doesn’t know her own bike’s gearing” I don’t know what will.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Now Lists, Lists I Can Handle
On Monday afternoon I received a phone call from the director of the creative writing program in which I will enroll in the fall. She had some news, she said.
In that instant, my mind started racing as I imagined all the terrible things she might tell me. Had I missed some deadline to accept my appointment? Was there an oversight and they actually don’t want me at all? I held my breath and braced myself for the worst news.
“Have you accepted anywhere else?” she asked. No. Fuck. I want to go to your school! Why, world, why are you taking my dreams away from me? I felt hot as The Redness gripped my neck and chest and my eyes welled with tears just waiting to waterfall down my cheeks.
“Oh good, we wanted to check because you’ve been chosen for a teaching assistantship…”
The rest of the conversation is kind of a blur. I tried to ask the right questions (when will I start? what will I teach? wait, full tuition AND a stipend?) but all I could think about was hanging up the phone and doing a big happy dance in my cubicle. It’s not every day that someone just calls you up and says, Oh by the way, now maybe you can afford to be a writer when you graduate because we’re taking away all your crippling debt! Ta-da!
I’ve been on cloud nine all week. Free grad school! And I get to teach immediately, which is exactly what I wanted. Hello, Fall Writing 101 students. I’m JackieOh, your neurotic, exercise-obsessed, scared-shitless teaching assistant. Now go read Italo Calvino’s Invisible Cities and if you don’t love it, get out of my class.
Of course, this changes my entire Pre-Back-to-School Plan, and I think we know how well I deal with change. Instead of lounging at the new FamilyOh beach house for a few weeks at the end of the summer, I have to take a summer prep course on how to be a TA that starts on July 15! That is SO SOON. I maybe had a teensy tiny little meltdown yesterday when I started to think about all the things I have to do between now and then to get ready…find an apartment, get a car, get car insurance, pack up and move out of New York City…aaand commence hyperventilation!
Slightly calmer today, I’m harnessing my nervous energy to more immediate plans. My Macro life is a little more than I can deal with right now, so I’m focusing on the Micro. And that means a Things I Need to Do Before Leaving New York List. This has to be the ultimate, super-duper, mother of all lists because I’m going out with a bang. Six years and I’ve never even been to the Statue of Liberty! So please, lovers, offer suggestions and join me in the fun!
To Do Before Leaving New York City:
Imbibe at the Brooklyn Brewery
See the Mermaid Parade, ride the Cyclone and eat Nathan’s hot dogs on Coney Island
Rent Kayaks on the Hudson
See the Jeff Koons exhibit on the roof of the Met Museum
Eat at Boat Basin Café
See shows at McCarren Park Pool and Central Park SummerStage
Hike with the girls in Cold Spring
See the Superheroes: Fashion and Fantasy exhibit at the Costume Institute
Visit the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island
What else am I forgetting?
In that instant, my mind started racing as I imagined all the terrible things she might tell me. Had I missed some deadline to accept my appointment? Was there an oversight and they actually don’t want me at all? I held my breath and braced myself for the worst news.
“Have you accepted anywhere else?” she asked. No. Fuck. I want to go to your school! Why, world, why are you taking my dreams away from me? I felt hot as The Redness gripped my neck and chest and my eyes welled with tears just waiting to waterfall down my cheeks.
“Oh good, we wanted to check because you’ve been chosen for a teaching assistantship…”
The rest of the conversation is kind of a blur. I tried to ask the right questions (when will I start? what will I teach? wait, full tuition AND a stipend?) but all I could think about was hanging up the phone and doing a big happy dance in my cubicle. It’s not every day that someone just calls you up and says, Oh by the way, now maybe you can afford to be a writer when you graduate because we’re taking away all your crippling debt! Ta-da!
I’ve been on cloud nine all week. Free grad school! And I get to teach immediately, which is exactly what I wanted. Hello, Fall Writing 101 students. I’m JackieOh, your neurotic, exercise-obsessed, scared-shitless teaching assistant. Now go read Italo Calvino’s Invisible Cities and if you don’t love it, get out of my class.
Of course, this changes my entire Pre-Back-to-School Plan, and I think we know how well I deal with change. Instead of lounging at the new FamilyOh beach house for a few weeks at the end of the summer, I have to take a summer prep course on how to be a TA that starts on July 15! That is SO SOON. I maybe had a teensy tiny little meltdown yesterday when I started to think about all the things I have to do between now and then to get ready…find an apartment, get a car, get car insurance, pack up and move out of New York City…aaand commence hyperventilation!
Slightly calmer today, I’m harnessing my nervous energy to more immediate plans. My Macro life is a little more than I can deal with right now, so I’m focusing on the Micro. And that means a Things I Need to Do Before Leaving New York List. This has to be the ultimate, super-duper, mother of all lists because I’m going out with a bang. Six years and I’ve never even been to the Statue of Liberty! So please, lovers, offer suggestions and join me in the fun!
To Do Before Leaving New York City:
Imbibe at the Brooklyn Brewery
See the Mermaid Parade, ride the Cyclone and eat Nathan’s hot dogs on Coney Island
Rent Kayaks on the Hudson
See the Jeff Koons exhibit on the roof of the Met Museum
Eat at Boat Basin Café
See shows at McCarren Park Pool and Central Park SummerStage
Hike with the girls in Cold Spring
See the Superheroes: Fashion and Fantasy exhibit at the Costume Institute
Visit the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island
What else am I forgetting?
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Big Changes at Nice Hedge Fund
Last week I slipped and told the girls in HR that I'm quitting Nice Hedge Fund for grad school.
It was after Take Your Brats to Work Day, and I had spent the better portion of my day ushering the kids from each different educational-yet-fun activity. Here's a JackieOh secret: I love kids. I feel like so many New York City Type A's echo the same sentiment about children, and it usually follows the vein of "I hate other people's kids, but when I have my own they will totally kick ass!" Not me. I see babies and I think, "I want one!" (someday) but this is not an easy thing for a cold-hearted bitch like myself to admit. I can't help it. Kids are usually cute and occasionally funny. They hold your hand; they notice when you change your hairstyle. And when they open their mouth you get a very clear image of how their parents raise them. This of course proved to be the best part about Take Your Brats to Work Day.
Example conversation:
Granddaughter of Mr. Nice Hedge Fund: I don’t like pizza!
Me: You don’t like pizza? What’s your favorite food then?
Granddaughter: Escargot!
Not even kidding. From the mouth of billionaire babes.
So afterwards, the HR Department wanted to thank all the helpers with Nice Hedge Fund embroidered office stuff. They handed me a backpack.
I am three months away from moving out of New York City and four years into living as a packrat in the same small Midtown apartment. I'm squarely situated in Phase One of Moving Mayhem: Panic About How Much Crap I Own. I couldn't bring home another backpack. I told them I was moving, and then blurted out the whole story before I could stop myself.
As fate would turn out (only in my silly little life), my confession got their gears cranking. They need a new HR assistant, and in the wake of several high-ranking office members leaving Nice Hedge Fund, co-worker D needs a new boss. So she is going to take over for my four guys (Easier, Easiest, JDate and The New One) and I’ll move downstairs to HR for the rest of my time here. I'm pretty happy about it - I've always enjoyed roles where I have my finger on the pulse of the action. D seems happy too, so all around its a good move. I start on Monday!
Later, after I agreed to the new arrangement, it occurred to me: HR people are like the benchmark of office behavior. I'm going to have to dress nicely, arrive punctually, and (gasp) probably log less hours chatting online. Shit. I might not be cut out for this role. And how will any of us survive without the constant inundation of Loud Guy’s personal life details?
Stay tuned, lovers. Looks like we'll have a whole new cast of characters to work with next week!
It was after Take Your Brats to Work Day, and I had spent the better portion of my day ushering the kids from each different educational-yet-fun activity. Here's a JackieOh secret: I love kids. I feel like so many New York City Type A's echo the same sentiment about children, and it usually follows the vein of "I hate other people's kids, but when I have my own they will totally kick ass!" Not me. I see babies and I think, "I want one!" (someday) but this is not an easy thing for a cold-hearted bitch like myself to admit. I can't help it. Kids are usually cute and occasionally funny. They hold your hand; they notice when you change your hairstyle. And when they open their mouth you get a very clear image of how their parents raise them. This of course proved to be the best part about Take Your Brats to Work Day.
Example conversation:
Granddaughter of Mr. Nice Hedge Fund: I don’t like pizza!
Me: You don’t like pizza? What’s your favorite food then?
Granddaughter: Escargot!
Not even kidding. From the mouth of billionaire babes.
So afterwards, the HR Department wanted to thank all the helpers with Nice Hedge Fund embroidered office stuff. They handed me a backpack.
I am three months away from moving out of New York City and four years into living as a packrat in the same small Midtown apartment. I'm squarely situated in Phase One of Moving Mayhem: Panic About How Much Crap I Own. I couldn't bring home another backpack. I told them I was moving, and then blurted out the whole story before I could stop myself.
As fate would turn out (only in my silly little life), my confession got their gears cranking. They need a new HR assistant, and in the wake of several high-ranking office members leaving Nice Hedge Fund, co-worker D needs a new boss. So she is going to take over for my four guys (Easier, Easiest, JDate and The New One) and I’ll move downstairs to HR for the rest of my time here. I'm pretty happy about it - I've always enjoyed roles where I have my finger on the pulse of the action. D seems happy too, so all around its a good move. I start on Monday!
Later, after I agreed to the new arrangement, it occurred to me: HR people are like the benchmark of office behavior. I'm going to have to dress nicely, arrive punctually, and (gasp) probably log less hours chatting online. Shit. I might not be cut out for this role. And how will any of us survive without the constant inundation of Loud Guy’s personal life details?
Stay tuned, lovers. Looks like we'll have a whole new cast of characters to work with next week!
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