Sick on a Saturday

I just reread my last post and realized I was sick when I wrote it. The sickness I have now makes that one look like a silly flu, a sissy virus, the lamest of the lame of germs. Late last night while indulging in some post-Thanksgiving movie watching (The Social Network, bootleg, natch) on Aunt Mary's couch, I started to feel a bit woozy. This morning, it was full blown: thick, scratchy throat, deep cough, head that feels like it's been put in the world's largest vice made specifically for big heads.

It occurs to me that I never fully got better from my last illness. So. I've spent today sleeping, waking up to do shots of Tylenol and Robitussin dropped off by my sweet Florence Nightingale, my cousin Karen. In between I've sandwiched snippets of Uncle Buck, the remaining episodes of Glee that I had to catch up on, and cleaned out the old DVR. It's like the day I always dreamed of, except I am too miserable to enjoy it. Even with ice cream.

In my throbbing head, I keep thinking about the fact that I am still 10 years old when it comes to sick days. Why, oh why, dear God, am I sick on a weekend? When I have a list of things to do that I actually want to do? Like get a Christmas tree, or go to Connecticut to see John Moses headline at Comix at Foxwoods, where we could gamble and eat fudge for free? Or go to yoga, or go out to lunch? Whhhhy?

I guess, since I complained last about having to work sick since I can't take sick days, the fact is that I just hate being sick. I hate it, even when Elf is on.

Pretty Awesome: Work Blog

When you work in editorial, people are forever sending you products to try, in the hopes that you might write about them in your magazine.

I don't work for editorial. I work in advertising, which means not only do editors consider me a bottom feeder, even advertisers don't care what I think. Usually.

That said, every now and then you get an advertiser who recognizes your human characteristics, and wants you to try their product and maybe even write about them on your blog that no one reads.

When it came to Elizabeth Arden Pretty, we had some product lying around from sweepstakes and gift bags we were fulfilling, and they wanted me to try the perfume. So I did, and I wrote about it here.

Do I love it? You know, it's not bad. I generally wear less floral perfumes, but take my opinion for what it's worth... pretty much nothing. But hey, at least I am honest!

True Flu

Ok so maybe it's not the flu but I am damn sick. My immune system-- usually the only strong part of my body thanks to years of drinking and enough stored alcohol to kill any germs that come within a seven foot radius-- is flustered, and I am sick. Beloved's been sick for a while, and my immune system pelted off his little germies for weeks before finally succumbing. I can pinpoint when it happened- after working until 10pm last Thursday, run down-- I had a wedding Friday, a trip to Massachusetts Saturday. That, coupled with Beloved's relentless germ spreading, did me in. In the car, my system gave out. I actually felt myself get sick as we crossed the New York border into Connecticut. At first I thought it was my aversion to the suburbs-- turned out it was actual illness.

Of course I had to work today. Not because I am a go-getter, but because I am paid by the day. That's right: no sick days, no vacation days, just get paid as you go. It seems doubly insulting that the people with no health insurance-- the freelancers-- are also the people with no sick days. I could get all worked up about it but I don't have the energy. And even if I had insurance, I probably wouldn't go to the doctor. I HATE doctors. But what I would do, if I could, is take a day, lay on the couch, watch Maury Povich and relax. This would surely make me feel better. In fact, I was never sick when I was unemployed, largely because that was all I did!

Anyway, it seems cruel that I took my couch for granted for so long. In fact, I had a rule- no TV in the daytime. Hello!? Stupid rule.

I am going to bed.

Get Polished: Work Blog

Another one from the mind of your favorite copywriter...hey, it pays the bills!

Get Polished

Product of My Environment

I moonlight as Lady Gaga's stylist, as you may have guessed ------->
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I was talking to an unemployed friend last night, and he said that he'd do anything to be working again. I would say that I remember that feeling, but I think if you know me you know that's not true.

In fact, I was recently waxing poetic about my days of leisure. Sure, there was stress about rent and bills, but I am working now and I still have that stress. Now I just have other things to stress about, like...

- When do I have time to drop off my dry cleaning?
- How can I move my car for alternate side before work when I am already late?
- When can I possibly catch up on episodes of Cake Boss when I am not getting home until 8:30pm?

I like my new gig- but I work hard. I am in at 9am, and I don't leave until about 6:45pm on average. I don't take lunch. Every minute of my day is filled with work- the days fly by, which is nice, but at the same time... holy shit. I get home, I eat dinner, I get ready for bed and then it's bedtime, and I am doing it all again. It reminds me of something...



Please, don't worry-- we all know I can't afford cocaine. Though it sure would make me skinny.

It's not that I am complaining. I just think that maybe we should completely overhaul the work culture in the United States. Maybe I was born in the wrong era-- maybe I should have been Don Draper's dowdy copywriting assistant, in at 9, out by 5, drinking bourbons and chain smoking Luckys in between. Why can't we go back to that?

Maybe it's my town. This week, the Daily News reported that New Yorkers are more stressed out than other Americans. I can sort of see why, between the shitty trains(that were rated an enthusiastic C as opposed to last year's C- by riders), ridiculous rents, and, of course, the scourge of the century, who wouldn't be stressed? What's so great about this stupid city anyway?

Or maybe it's just me. I tend to throw myself into my work-- I try to BECOME the thing I write about. If it's fashion or beauty, suddenly I am upping the ante on my shopping. If it's food, I am hungry. Very hungry.

When I was unemployed, I became your typical unemployed person. I hit the gym, I relaxed, I laughed off the idea of the "Sunday Night Blues." I went out on a Tuesday night because I could.

I guess the thing I am realizing is that I adapt to my environment, but not just that, I adapt to the WORST parts of my environment. I pick up all the vices everywhere I go-- never the good traits. Maybe I should work at Forbes, or some kind of budget magazine. If I worked at Oprah, maybe I'd end up saving the world. But more than likely, I'd just badmouth beef farmers, yo-yo diet and start saying Umm Hmmm a lot.

You're Semi-Hired!

(Hire me! I can make rainbows fly out of my butt!)
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In the immortal words of the Talking Heads, I ask: "Wait... how did I get here?"

Where's here? A desk- in an office, actually. A real, live office. My first ever. When I was at Former Fashion Magazine they kept me in a storage closet which, given my aversion to people, really worked out nicely for me. Not today, though. Today I have a desk in an office with a door that (blessedly) shuts.

It's sort of like this-- as Renton told Spud, you can't try too hard, of you'll end up employed. You can't not try, or they'll know you're not trying. It was a fine line to walk, and I walked the wrong way. And ended up with a job. Sort of.



So, I guess I am employed. As Beloved has been pointing out, I've been fairly employed for a while. (Hence my lack of blogging. I felt like a Funemployed Fraud!) I have been taking any freelance I can, doing maternity fill-ins as a copy director and going to school so that I can continue towards my goal of becoming a high school English teacher.

I am employed, but-- I am kind of barely so. The new-fangled job market in advertising means that I have been hired as a perma-lancer. What's that, you ask? It's a person with all of the responsibilities, less of the perks. At the New Fashion Magazine where I am semi-employed, I have an office, but no healthcare. I filed for that from the Freelancers Union who, it turns out, are kind of crooks, just like every other insurance based entity. I have a regular gig I can depend on, but no recourse if they decide one day they don't need me. Also, I have a fairly steady paycheck, but no vacation days... so if I do decide to take a day off for, say, Thanksgiving, I won't be paid for it. Of course, the office is closed on Thanksgiving or I'd probably come in, being the cheap bitch that I am.

It's sort of crazy being back. I am thrust back into my same self-loathing, fueled by the matchsticks that ride the elevator and load up on lettuce leafs in the cafeteria at lunch. I realize my attention span in meetings has been drastically reduced by 18 months of unemployment and Maury Povich reruns. I can barely make it through a brainstorming without shouting "You are NOT the FATHER!" Yet at the same time, it comes back, like riding a bike. (I should probably mention I was hit by a car riding a bike in high school, so this isn't the best analogy, but you get the point.) In this part of my life I am responsible, and organized, and at the risk of sounding conceited, quite good at what I do, which is writing ad copy. There's an energy to it that I thrive on, and I missed that. I work hard at it and I nail it down and I deliver within deadlines-- just like I always did. It kind of makes me wonder what made me so expendable to begin with.

So that's where I stand. Do I need to change the name of my blog? You tell me, but I don't think so. I think Semi-Employed doesn't convey the fun I have being barely employed at the lowest possible level.

You'll hear a lot more out of me now, because after some time I have finally decided on the new direction for this blog. Just because I am semi-employed doesn't mean I am not a deadbeat, so we'll see where it goes, but honestly this blog was always just an outlet for me to write about what I wanted, what I saw, what was important to me, and it will continue to be the same thing. So expect lots of posts on inane things. Um, I didn't ask you to follow me, you got yourself into this shitheap yourself.

Credit Where Credit is Due: Plum Crazy (Work Blog)

I realize I am not, by practice, your most diligent blogger. It could be weeks before I add a new post, and when I do I am often promising to do it more often.

That said, you should know, this isn't my only blog. I actually now need to blog as part of my job at New Fashion/Beauty Magazine. I am not really a diligent blogger there, either-- but since I am my only reader and I am grossly overworked, I think it's okay.

If you subscribe to this blog, you like the way I write. And if you like the way I write, you'll like my work blog. No one reads it except for me, so I have the liberty of being myself. Well, my more professional self.

So, I've decided to start linking the two blogs. It might get me more traffic on that blog, and it will make me feel less like a slacker on this one. That said, I will ALWAYS label it a work blog when it is one--so you know any products I am promoting are advertisers for that magazine. Cool?

Cool.

Here's the first post I did for them, called "Plum Crazy," wherein I try to pretend I know all about the plum makeup trend.