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GLINT


As a matter of faxÖ5.13.05

What the hell is up?

I could launch into some soliloquy or something about how Iíve had to neglect my blawg because Iíve been so ultra hot busy with my REAL life and ACTUAL people and just could not be bothered by this random collection of words dumped out here on the shoulder of the info. superhighway like some sad Jersey Turnpike trash (e.g. busted up suitcase with clothes spilling out, torn tire tread, rotting corpse, etc.)ÖI could do that, but I wouldnít insult YOU like that! YOU are the reason I am here.

And you know, really, I havenít been that busy. I havenít traveled anywhere or tried anything or met any new people. I havenít taken the fork in the road like I should have or challenged myself or changed myself. And thatís tight, as far as Iím concerned.

Look. All morning Iíve been having to receive faxes whose coversheet is emblazoned with ďAs a Matter of FaxÖĒ Barf.

Anyway, I was gonna post this around Motherís Day, but clearly Iím not, so deal. Why are mothers allowed to have jobs? I mean the real kind of jobs where they have to wear clothes that fit nicely and do their hair and come to an office. So what about feminism and womenís lib and the glass ceiling and Hilary Clinton? Mothers should not be allowed in the workplace! Do you realize what they are capable of here? They bring to the officeóthe hopelessly drab, antiseptic, impersonal, soulless officeósome feeling.

You must know someone like this at your office? An older lady who is nice and just comes off asóa mom. She might talk about her kids a little here and there (not obnoxiously and incessantly like you are apparently supposed to) and you could totally picture her being maternally task oriented. Particularly, the office mom is sneakily good at making you feel better when you feel like stamping into your office and slamming the door and having a good old-fashioned (that is to say, adolescent) sulk. Rather than simply sliding past you in the hall with downcast eyes and a clear desire to avoid you and your ďbadĒ attitude, the workplace mommy will reach out to you and offer you the soothing professional version of the proverbial milk and cookies: a warm, rich and chewy bitch session.

And not only do you get to bitch and feel good for that alone, the workplace mommy is adept at realizing how frustrated you are, and tsk-tsk-ing at all the right places, and shaking her head, and rolling her eyes, and acting just as self-righteously wronged as you feel.

I swear itís like you are coming home from that most awful day everóthe one where you dropped your lunch tray right in the cafeteria and had beefaroni all over your shirt for the rest of the day, and your best friend wasnít talking to you but instead to Marcy Eustace, and you had to sit with the kids from band at lunch rather than sit alone, and then you got a C- on your math quiz and the teacher snapped at you when you asked her a question about it, and you missed the bus home, and you just KNEW, you knew the whole fricking world had it out for YOU, poor poor you.

Thatís when your mom could come in handy with the straight up sympathy treatment. Unconditional love, ainít it something? Itís one of those womanly talents that come along with having birthed another human being, I guess, like using seltzer to get the red wine stain out of the beige carpet. I donít know how they do it really. And once you have this mad skill, you can apparently just use it anywhere, anytime, whenever you see someone needs it, like CPR. But clearly Hallmark needs to get on this one: Happy Work Mom Day!


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the black apple... the girl who... sarah brown... thunderpie... evany... jenny b harris... posie... claude le monde... artsy... fartsy... jeff... random person in texas... another rachel... smitten kitchen... more of me... still more of me... even more of me...and yet still more of me...more of me but not for free...


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