...And Then Everything Went Horribly, Horribly Wrong

So the new gig is going well, though it has only been three days. My main problem is that my work wardrobe for the past eight years has consisted of jeans and saucy sandals. And this is a closed-toed office. And they're dressing for winter, even though it's still 80 degrees outside. THIS IS PHOENIX, PEOPLE. I refuse to buy into The Man's proscription that since it's November, sweaters will be worn. I'm still using the AC in my car! There is no way I'm not wearing short-sleeved shirts to work. But back to their dress code: it's positively archaic. But everyone does look really nice. I just can't do nice. I can put on a blazer just like anyone else, but my blazer will be lavender velvet - not boring black suiting. I have mid-heel pumps, but they're shiny lizard-print with kitten heels, or hot yellow. And my hair! Oh! These people don't have chic hairdos, but they do know how to pull their tresses off their faces and attach something more than a black band to their ponytails. And they wear makeup every day...oof, I can't do it. I'll try to Stepford myself up as best I can, but gosh darnit, I gotta be me.

So here's what really blows my mind about the new oficina: everyone - to a person - is intelligent and well-spoken. This is a real departure for me. Usually some to many of my office-mates are still dragging their knuckles, discussing the latest "Everybody Loves Raymond" and grunting over Lean Cuisines at the lunch table. This practically goes unsaid, but it is truly intoxicating to work with smarties.

Yesterday, the woman who sits across from me divulged her secret television obsession: she's a news junkie. She says she reads 5 papers a day and flips through news stations on tv when she gets home. I told her how I like to watch home shopping when I'm feeling sinister. She was not impressed. For once, I'm the dumb one! Ah! It's truly refreshing.

By the way, I am getting fatter every day. No doubt Richard Simmons will be pulling up to my door in a matter of moments, wearing sparkly short shorts, crying, and carrying the Jaws of Life. No, really. Right now I'm in my gym clothes, and I just looked down to see my left boob puffing out above my sports bra. Dude. I've really let myself go! But at least I'm still getting the A+ Nookie from the Estranged Hubbity. Last night was a real barn-burner, too. He came over for my Chinese eggplant dish and stayed for a little conjugal visitation. Yahoo! God Bless America!

So this morning my parents aged 30 years. Because my idiot downstairs neighbor started early with his Weekend Boom-Boom Bass Party, I went to the rents' house to find my mom in bed at 10 am, watching - this is so disturbing - Operation Dumbo Drop...because it was the only movie that was starting at the time she turned on the tv... And my dad was in his office, typing his latest manuscript, and avoiding Operation Dumbo Drop, when the phone rang. My mom called out, "Pick up the phone - the one in here isn't charged," so my dad answered, and a moment later yelled back, "It's for you - discount." I won't go into the extended "who is it" "I don't know" volley, but Mom's curiosity was piqued, so she got up and walked through the house to the office, only to return moments later with the announcement that on the other end of the line was someone trying to sell her discount computer parts. And apparently, my dad knew this. I was hysterical - it was seriously one of their most comedic exchanges on record - and my mom was like, "Why is this so funny to you?" Why, Mom? Because you just became old people.