The Divas.

The former Descartes girls had a semi-annual/quarterly get together this afternoon. We like to do a weekend, which typically involves booze and snack foods and jammies, but it didn’t quite work out this time. No matter, we had lunch and shopping and splendid conversation and sweets that had the words “Dutch” and “apple” in their names.

Alexandria’s, my cousin’s shoe store, continues to taunt me. I found a pair of black heeled slides – very close to the ones Gordie chewed – but the largest size they had left was a half-size too small. The other pair I quite liked was the last pair in the store. Size 6. Hahahahaha! Fortunately, the other girls took up the slack (troopers, they are…) and bought shoes, boots, and purses for the cause. Then we popped next door to the lingerie shop (also owned by my cousin) and there were slippers and a very saucy little two-piece number purchased (alas, not by me).

After that all were satiated, so it was time for coffee, dessert, and the more interesting conversational topics. (Hand gestures were, at times, required.) All in all, a very fine afternoon.

Oh, and a new tradition was started, somewhat by accident. So I am now the proprietor of this, for now:

Manuel

“Lady, make a note of this…”

What’s a Modern Girl to Do?

While there is some truth in this, and a couple of interesting points, stuff like this just makes me So Fucking Tired (no pun intended). And that doughnut “trick”? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me…

Fortunately, I linked to that article from this one, which makes me less snarly.

And now, if you will excuse me, I need to get back to my search for a wealthy, elderly husband. With a heart condition. And apparently a fondness for doughnuts…

Dream a little dream…

They’re back, ladies and gents! Yes, the fucked up dreams have returned… This is the one from this morning, as much as I remember, anyway.

I was getting married, and it was The Wedding Day. Amusingly, there was no groom in sight, and I had no idea who he was, but that didn’t seem to matter. What mattered that getting dressed in my wedding attire bore a strange similarity to getting dressed in my Hallowe’en costume this past Monday morning (the irony being that for Hallowe’en I was a black widow). And, in fact, I was wearing the same veil. (Yes, black veil for my wedding.) In fact, my whole ensemble, was black or the green of the chairs in the Muskoka meeting room at work. Let me see if I can pull up a visual…

green chairs

There they are on our first day at the new office. So yeah, for my wedding I was decked out in black and acid green. (I knew it wasn’t real at that point; I’m getting married in red.) I also couldn’t find any decent jewelry. It just kept appearing and it was all tacky. Seriously, would it have killed you (brain) to conjure up some diamonds or something?

Anyway, all this stuff kept going wrong, and I kept wandering around outside with this guy in a black suit – wedding coordinator, maybe? Actually, it kept alternating. There was a guy, then he’d go away. Then there’d be a woman, then she’d go away. And it looked like we were at some grotty old community centre (I don’t THINK so), and then at one point the best man was eaten by a crocodile that leapt out of a giant mud puddle in the parking lot. Seriously. So basically, we were running REALLY LATE, and nothing was going right.

I don’t remember much else anymore, ‘cept that I woke up smirking, and then was gently lulled back to sleep when a thunderstorm started just after I woke up. (And I remember thinking I could use some hot groom action right about then…)

Clothes make the geek?

http://www.theregister.co.uk/2005/10/25/otto_clothes/

I don’t disagree with this. Yes, I prefer men who are not so perfect and fancy that you don’t think you could ever mess them up. And I prefer men who don’t spend more time or money on grooming than I do. However, well-dressed men? Gimme. Guys who have bothered to find out what cuts and colours they should wear and have shoes that match? HAWT. (That said, it’s not like I’m going to do anything but drool from afar at work.)

Thing is, there really isn’t any reason geeks should be an exception anymore. The “slovenly and surly = competent and productive” angle is waning. The day of the Crotchety, Chain-Smoking, Black-Jeans-Clad Unix Sysadmin is over. IT, like everything else in the corporate environment, is about customer service. And part of customer service, in any industry, is perception and appearance. People are more open to working with people who look like them. You show up at a meeting in khakis and a shirt with buttons, and the IT guy shows up in dirty jeans and a decade-old Thinkgeek t-shirt, there’s already an Us vs. You dynamic in the room before anyone’s said anything. There is unspoken commentary about power structure and control and respect. And what’s the point?

Yes, your favourite jeans and a t-shirt are more comfy than pants with a crease and shirts with a collar. But not by THAT much. And sure, tech monkeys don’t want to be crawling around under desks and in server rooms in clothes they’re going to wreck, but how often does your average code monkey deal with hardware, anyway? It’s not necessary for Joe Tech Support to show up in a three-piece suit and wingtips every day, but there is a basic standard that is not that unreasonable an expectation. Besides, it’s not like your average geek can’t afford to dress decently.

Yes, I am hardly a fashionista, but skirts and heels and stockings do make it out of my closet and in to the office, and my ID badge lists “IT Department” on it. Plus, my team is somewhat unusual in that my ex-boss was a total metrosexual, my current boss is fond of suits, and my Work Husband recently went shopping (right after his uber-raise) and now also shows up in khakis and dress shirts, and, sometimes, a suit. That said, on casual days they’ll wear jeans like the next person, but Tuesday through Thursday? Yum. And since we all still have our jobs, I’m not getting the impression that them looking good has torpedoed our credibility or productivity at all.