Casual(ly Uncomfortable) Friday

About 20 minutes before we closed yesterday, my boss poked her head in the door and announced that it would be Casual Friday today.  The initial rush of excitement and flurry of ideas of what I could wear the next day were later to be quelled by two contrasting ideologies:  cute, truly casual wear, and the exasperation of trying to look professional and having to wear jeans in the middle of summer in the hottest state in America. (My office Casual Friday rules state “You must wear jeans or khakis, with a work appropriate shirt.  You must also pretend like you are not sweating and smell like a mule. “)

Now for some, this would not be such a big deal- say if you worked in an office that you didn’t have to deal directly with a client, or some movie-like newspaper/magazine where you could wear whatever you wanted to as long as it was trendy and “cool.”  But when you are working in an insurance office where you are always dealing with clientele, dressing for “Casual” Friday is a little more complicated.

So I’m sitting in my room last night, in a pile of clothing, gripping a beautiful salmon colored shirt that I want to wear so badly and wiping the nervous sweat that beads up on my brow with the dark, dressy jeans that I don’t want to but know that I will have to wear the next day.  I realize something at this point, as I clutch the twirly skirt and the cute shorts and large waist belt to my breast with a wild look in my eye…I hate Casual Friday.  Because it is never really “casual.”  Because people will be judging by just what you are wearing, employees and clients alike.  I mean, you can take the chance and wear those light-washed jeans and graphic tee from Banana Republic, but all day you will feel self-conscious that you have killed your professional integrity by actually coming to work in comfortable clothing.

Now you may be thinking, So, just wear a skirt or something, Ryan.  You don’t have to look like a bum. Ah, yes, but then you will be the party foul who showed up on Casual Friday in something sassy and semi-professional.  The next thing you know, someone is spiking your coffee with copier ink and leaving Hate post-its in your cubicle. I do not want to be that girl.  

So eventually, I had to resign myself to my jeans and spent today sweating my face off every time someone opened the door to the inferno that lies outside and shifting uncomfortably as my dark dressy jeans moved into strange and foreign places after sitting in the same chair for so long.

The next time you hear someone resounding joyfully at the mention of this mythical day of casual fashion, do me a favor and punch them in the face.  It will ease the pain for them of dealing with the fallacies of Casual Friday later.

If I had been able to dress in my regularly scheduled clothing, this may have happened:

The Problem with Not Being Omnipresent

One question has been buzzing around inside my head like a fly that has is stuck in between the blinds and the window...How the heck do you find a job in a city that you don't yet live in? My original plan was to move up to Boston (which I have unhealthily began to fantasize as a land of wine, honey, and Gerard Butler look alikes) and find one as soon as I could. But the closer I have gotten to the moving date, the more paranoid I have become that I am going to get up there and be the next victim of unemployment. Does anyone have any suggestions? Has anyone made a big move like this and waitied until they got there to find a job?

PLUS, please excuse the sloppiness of the blog. I am currently trying to tidy it up and give it that, "New age flapper/sophisticated scholar look." I am also taking suggestions on that. :)

Secretarial Reflections

So I have just recently found another job to help me pay for my big move to Boston. Starting at 9 am, I go to work as a secretary at an insurance firm. I stay there until 3:30, where I promptly drive across town to work as a secretary at my church's gym. (Yes, we have a gym. Don't judge.) I am there until 9 pm. On busy days, it goes by fast, and I end up at home tired but satisfied that I have contributed to the "An Adult Child Living with Parents is a Mortifying Expeirence so Said Child Must Move as Far Away as Possible" fund. But today it has been extra slow, reminding me that I am not taking regular lunches to earn more money and that I'm not making that much money.

But today, I have also taken all my down time to do some thinking. And, let's admit it, when things get busy, we really don't have time to just simply think. And alot of the time, that's a good thing. A relief. But other times, it's nice to just hang out and ponder for a while. So I started thinking about my grandparents and how crazy their lives were. I'm currently trying to write a book about my grandmother, and I got to work a little on that. And then I found this picture that I took of my grandfather's hands this summer. And I just wanted to share it. It speaks for itself.


What do our bodies say about our lives? Looking in the reflective, quarter sphere camera staring down at me in the gym, mine says (slightly mussed hair with half drooped eye lids) I am tired from working hard for something I want very badly, (mostly long nails, with some that have been broken but yet to be filed) I am torn between my extremely feminine side and the tomboy that lives within, (my rather round hind end) that I am indeed one foxy lady at the end of the day.

So there are my reflections for the day. Seeing as it is only 6 pm, and it is raining (who really wants to go to the gym soggy?), methinks I may post again later. Only the unexercised masses can tell.

Plus, here is my mother's new kitchen that I am obsessed with!
Before


After