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November 08, 2004
Going to a go-go
I am being photographed by a Rolling Stone photographer on Friday. Not for Rolling Stone, sadly (I am still working on my alt-country dance sensation), but for work. I work at a very large company that spends a fair amount of money on Hoopla and Fanfare. Apparently, they want portraits of real live employees this year to showcase at our Main Corporate Event. The event planner clicked into our office in her Blahniks last week and recruited a bunch of us, targeting our group because we are techies and writerly and therefore, one would assume, sort of "funky" and "cool". Ha ha ha. I am thinking, it's a good thing I didn't show up wearing the sweater that I put on last week and didn't notice until I was walking out the door that it had BREASTMILK on it. Right over my boob! I breastfed the Bean until he was just over four months. He's fifteen months now. Do the math on that. Don't worry, the sweater is now in the pile to go the drycleaners.
I really need a housekeeper. I mean, one that doesn't suck. I have someone who comes in for two hours a week and sort of moves things around. Yet when I come back from whatever errand I've fabricated to keep me from being all nervous and weird about someone else touching my stuff, she generally hasn't done much actual cleaning. And yet, you hate to point things like fist-sized dust bunnies under your kid's crib out because she is IN your HOUSE and could put her butt on your pillow or something while you were gone and you would never know! How creepy is that! Or insert dead fly wings in between your toothbrush bristles like I did once to my brother. Sorry about that Rob!
One thing she does do every week is arrange the Bean's stuffed animals in little mise-en-scenes around his room. At first it was cute, but now I am like, listen lady I get that the monkey is friends with the giraffe, he had his arms draped around it LAST week. Can you please not spend so much time re-creating friendly forest scenes and focus on CLEANING MY FRICKING HOUSE? Thanks.
So, a photographer from Rolling Stone is doing my portrait and all I wear these days are giant woolen mu-mus to hide the twenty pounds I can't seem to shed from Viva La Bean. My dream outfit would be the pirate shirt from Seinfeld, a red push-up bra and a pair of chocolate leather pants, but I am afraid that wouldn't go over so well with the Executive Committees. Must contemplate what to wear and possibly, shop.
Posted by Max at November 8, 2004 12:48 AM