Spring Is Here and I’m Sneezing

Rita is giggly.  She’s probably picking up guys as we speak.  She called me at midnight squealing,” I”m a cougar, I’m a cougar.”  Oh no, I thought, now I have to deal with her adolescence.

“Pinkslip, I have another date on Friday” she said excitedly.

” Listen, I take it your not going to synagogue  Listen.  Don’t “put out on the first date. And don’t tell him whether you buy or rent.  Keep him guessing. ”  I said trying to be helpful.

Well, they say happiness is contagious. But I wasn’t.    I was ashamed at my own schadenfreude for all these years.

“I feel like a teenager again” she yelled.

“Rita, I’m so happy for you!” I cheered.

But inside I felt miserable.  Its just that  I never thought that at this point in life I would be living with a canine.  Don’t get me wrong.  I’m counting my blessings.  She’s blond and  doesn’t talk back.  I have shelter and kibble.  But I never thought my life companion would have four paws.  But then again, many people would consider that trading up.

Ugh, love is everywhere.  Even my dog, Brie, has become a flirt.  In fact, she has fallen in love with a Cairn terrier down the block.  When he comes within a few feet of her, she pounces in front of him frantically, and then runs away.  My mature terrier repeats this frantic ritual 3 or 4 times until totally exhausted.  Then,. with her last burst of strength, she sprints down the street, dragging me like roadkill.  She also started to wake up  every morning at 3 am to flirt with the newspaper delivery guy.  In the middle of the night, she  listens for the “thud” that is her call to duty.  Then, she jumps out of my bed like Bat Dog and arrives at the door within a nanosecond.  First there’s the low guttural growl. ” Grrrr ” Then a soft  “arf….arf.”

A little louder. “Arf…Arf….”

A little faster, “Arf…Arf…”

Now, she howls with a cute smile.  “ARF!  ARF!”

The newspaper delivery guy howls back through the door, ” AROOOGH!”

He leaves, and she whines until 6:00, when my alarm goes off.  She then returns to my bed and stretches out on my pillow with paws in all directions, grinning.  It’s time for me to get up and for her to get her beauty rest.


Home Again!

I was “gainfully” employed for awhile.  Working for an outsourcing company.  Then my job was outsourced to India.  My friends think its hysterical!  Things are actually pretty different around here.  First, I’ve become a mother. No It’s not what you think.  I haven’t been having that much fun.  I adopted a Yorkshire terrier named Brie this past August and I’ve been too busy being trained that I have been able to write.  It’s a dog’s life!  She came from a very good neighborhood in Connecticut, and is adjusting to being an urban dog.  Everyday I play her some rap music.  And she got her first taste of good Jewish pot roast.  Now she refuses to eat her kibble without kosher chicken.  this dog lucked out!  Also, Rita’s gotten really skinny.  You wouldn’t recognize her and Gucci.  Now I’m going to have to hear HER dating stories!  And Abby just came back from another trip to Antarctica and looks almost mystically happy.  I think she’s going to go off wondering again.  So, here I am, living with a canine, about to call unemployment.  Again.  I think you are now up-to-date.


I went to a conference on Twitter and found that I’m truly a “twidiot!”  The best part, however, was seeing Martha   Stewart in person and hearing her speak about important digital marketing matters.   Like shoes…What I learned is that she’s really into them.  In fact, she’ll even take a picture of your shoes if she likes them.  I was sorry that she didn’t take a picture of my shoes.  I should have worn the ones with the bows, or the polka dots.  Not black patent flats…I would love to go for dinner at her house.  But I would keep her away from my feet!


There is so much snow and ice.  I’m sitting at my computter looking at job boards, but I’m thinking about going to Israel. The truth is, I’m afraid to do anything different.  I go down to the street, and I see a broken down sign on the corner in front of the garbage.    I move closer.  It reads “Be your dreams.”  I look on the other side. Sprawling across the back of the disgarded sign in proud, thick, black, bold graffitti is, “Be Your Dreams!”

Myers Briggs-January

 The counselor invites me to take a bunchof tests–including the Myers Briggs personality test.  It is apparently based on a Jungian concept that there are roughly 30 something types of personalities.  Actually, I think I’ve dated them all.  It’s  a  battery of questions revealing your “authentic self”–whether ou like  to pick up guys at parties or sulk alone in a corner…boss people at work or sit under your desk waiting for the cuts to be over hoping you won’t be noticed…It assesses whether you’re the kind of person who pays 30% interest on your credit cards like me and can’t keep a plant alive, but is dedicated to world peace.  Or if you need a list to keep track of your lists. 

I recall on question was “Do you enjoy planning in advance, or do what’s fun at the moment?”  Well, that was a tough one, Every dayplanner I’ve owned has remained empty despite my franetic activity.

Synogogue Job Search Group-No Rugalah

It was one of those freezing nights last weeks where I wanted to just isolate in my overheated apartment.  I’ve  been staying in alot lately and I’ve been blaming it on the weather.  It’s cold…icy…slushy.  But the fact is I really don’t want to be around people.  I guess this is the opposite of “networking.”  So, there’s an event at the synogogue accross the street from where I live at 7:00 and I figure maybe I should go.  Perhaps there will be some good tips.  I leave what’s become my cave and head for the meeting.  I hope there are cookies. Not on the “Poodle Girl Diet.” I make it across the street into the temple which has an awful smell.  The meeting room is packed.  Two slim, blonde women are heading the discussion who are obviously not part of the congregation.  They are perky and animated, pointing  to a powerpoint.  (Irish Catholic I guess.) They talk about resumes and two minute pitches.  Linked-In and FaceBook.  All familiar jargon if you’ve been a professional.  So where’s the rugalah and the turkey sandwiches.  Apparently we don’t get food as we’re the disenfranchised.  I notice a pamphlet on Jewish Poverty at the head of the table and I have trouble breathing.  I young woman raises her hand and starts talking about her depression.  She talks on and on and won’t stop.  Out of the edges of my eyes I see old friends and boyfriends in the crowd.  We do out best not to acknowledge each other.  The program ends.  No rugalah.  I sneak out in shame and eat a bag of double chocolate Milanos in secret.

Harvard Hedge Fund Event

I planned to meet a friend at a Harvard Hedge Fund event who works for a major nonprofit organization.  Everybody shows up for it whether they’re in the industry or not—it’s like a big B-School garden party.  Come to think of it, I don’t know what a hedge fund is.  So, where did that name come from?  That large bush that surrounds the “masters of the universe?”  Or is a “hedge” a small malicious animal with sharp teeth—like a rat, trained to point fingers…or claws.  I didn’t want to come, but I figured there would be good shoes, cute guys, and shrimp.   I arrived early and we were not allowed to touch the drinks.  And there were no cocktail franks.  So, I had to survive the famine until after the panel discussion.  I walk toward the auditorium of the investment firm where the event was hosted, and signed a non-disclosure before I entered the inner sanctum.  I sit in my seat and inhale the scent of leather and power.  People are a whirl of Wall Street black and grey, furiously checking their BlackBerries.  The atmosphere is hushed and private—even reverential.  And it should be…

Some of the people in the room probably make more money than a small county, come to think of it.  We civilians in the audience are fascinated to be near this tidal wave of cash.

The moderator takes the microphone, “Nothing we say here is true.”  All the speakers nod silently.  The audience bows in reverence.  Each guru takes his turn delivering a market recap and prophesying the year to come.  We take notes hoping the wizardry will rub off.

The terms blurred…derivative…long position…Whatever.  When do we eat!

Fingers pointing, but all innocent.   They’re all good.  Right?  Like Lloyd Blankfein at Goldman Sachs who is doing “God’s work.”  What a relief.  And he’s just a blue collar guy.  I have shirts with blue collars too. 

The words echo,”Madoff was not one of us.  He was a broker/dealer.  He never would have received external clearance.

The room nodded.

There was no shrimp at the reception.  Only fried chicken.