a tale of two Target trips.

I went to Target twice last week. And each time was not without a story.


Tuesday:


I went to Target to browse. Do you know how dangerous that is for me? I spent an hour walking around, picking things up, taking illegal pictures of shelf sets and signage for work. I ended up spending only $3.17. I was so proud I put it on Facebook. I mean, who spends only three dollars in Target???


(THIS GIRL!)


Friday:


A mysterious stomach bug ripped through the office on Friday. I was the fourth victim to leave work early, around 4pm. But of course, there was a ton of traffic, and it was taking forever to get home. I went from thinking: "Please let me make it home in time!" to "I'm not going to make it home in time!" in a matter of minutes.


So I did what any self-respecting female would do: got off the highway and drove to the nearest Target.


And threw up 7 times.


One of my finer moments, for sure.


(And, for the record, I spent ZERO dollars in that trip. Another first.)

please file under: are you effing kidding me?

Two Fridays ago, I took my team out for lunch. It was a glorious, sunny afternoon, so why not spend $200 on drinks and lunch, seated on the patio of a hip new restaurant.


I had two of my team members in my car with me as I navigated the large, public lot. I pulled into a space behind the church and put the car in park.


As we were gathering our things, I noticed the car in the spot in front of me was slowly rolling backwards.


I leaned on the horn. BEEEEP!


And the car kept on coming.


"Oh my god, he's still coming!" one girl yells.


BEEEEEEEEEEEEP!


"Why isn't he stopping?" the other says.


BEEEEEEEEEEEEP!


"I think he's going to hit us!" I say.


BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!


And then he rolled right into my car.


After he hit my car, he turned around and glared at me through his back window.


Annnnnd here we go.


The man that gets out of the car is in his late fifties or so, and he's shaking his head in disgust.


I open my car door and step one foot out and stand up. Somehow thinking that my door will protect me from any harm.


He gives me a, 'Why the hell did you just drive into me? Hmph. Women drivers!' kind of look.


"Um, YOU hit ME."


"I did?"


"Yes. That's why your car is half in my parking space."


"I didn't even realize I was rolling."


"Yes. That's why I was beeping at you like a lunatic."


And then inspects my car. He barely tapped me, as he must have been in neutral, but we both go through the motions.


"Did I do that?" he asks, pointing to an imperfection on the front of my car that I would love to use this 'mishap' as an excuse to get fixed on someone else's dollar.


"No, you didn't." (See God? I'm a good person.)


"Well, I'm awfully sorry." And he starts to walk away.


"Do you think you can move your car back up into your own parking space?"


He obliges and walks into the church.


I take a picture of his license plate, just in case.


"It's a good thing you didn't say anything bad to him," says one girl. "He was wearing a shirt that said something about killing people."


Hey, no one ever said I was stupid.

friday randomness

Happy Friday, y'all! 

The rain in the northeast has finally ceased for 7 minutes and the sun.is.out. That is reason enough for celebration.

Because it's so nice out my attention span is not up to par, so instead of a poetically written long post, I have some snippets that should get you through your Friday.

We went to a beer fest in Boston last weekend. For 3.5 hours we drank our way around the World Trade Center. 100 craft brewers, 560 beers (or something like that, I lost count after my 7th double IPA). After the beer fest - because we're old - we knew that we had to keep drinking or we'd go to sleep. So off to two more beer bars it was! By the end of the night, I looked like this:

Did I mention it was raining cats, dogs, elephants and any other animal you can think of? NOTE: this girl didn't need more beer.

To pay for my beer addiction affinity, I have come up with the next BIG IDEA for a tv show. It's a take-off on Hoarders, except it's about CAR Hoarders. I found the first person to feature on this new series at my local grocery store:

Qualifications include - but are not limited to:

• a back seat that looks like a Goodwill donation bin
• a year's worth of fast food bags, containers and food particles
• an unhealthy number of stuffed animals
• a collection of paper that when added up could rival the number of trees in the Redwood Forest

I confirmed yesterday what I've known for years: I HATE linen. Sure, it's a cool option in the summer heat, but so are skirts.

Yesterday I went shopping during the afternoon (I got to leave the office in the middle of the day! I know, right???) And against my better judgement, I tried on a pair of white linen pants. 

You know what you can't see in this online photo of the pants? That when you put them on, you can see your pubic hair through them. 

(So, no, I didn't buy them)

Now go and drink too much beer and wear see-through pants.

is all stress created equal?

The other afternoon I was lunch with some coworkers, welcoming a new hire. We were seated at a newer hot spot, and the service couldn't have been slower.


"The problem with lunching in Westport," I said to the group, "is that they assume everyone is a Westport Mommy who doesn't work and has all day to sit here and eat lunch because her Nanny is entertaining the kids."


My coworker – a hard-working VP (who happens to have a Nanny) – replied, "I've learned that everyone has their stressors."


Silently I agreed with her - to a point. I have all the respect in the world for Stay At Home Moms...it's a ridiculously hard job that I'm not sure I could ever do. Their harried days make new business pitches and cross-country travel seem like a cake walk.


She continues, "Compare our jobs to people fighting cancer. Don't our stresses seem silly?" 


Well, of course they do. Worrying about getting a QR code approved pales in comparison to waiting to hear about life-threatening test results. 
I want to tell her that I held a full-time job AND fought cancer, but she doesn't know that and doesn't really need to. And I don't feel like derailing the conversation right now, especially with a new hire.


I'm not talking about people who were unfortunately laid off or searching for work, and stressing about making ends meet. I'm talking about the women who live in affluent communities, who don't work OR have children. Who spend their days on the Avenue or attending fund-raising benefits. Are their stressors the same?


"My cousin's wife doesn't work," another coworker piped up, "and they don't have kids yet. She mostly plays tennis every day with her friends, and is always complaining about how she doesn't like the tennis balls one lady brings, how they don't bounce well off her racket, and how she can't always find a playing partner. And she's always SO busy. It's kind of crazy."


"Those aren't stresses," I calmly reply. "They're called 'white people problems'."