And one asks, Who would sexually harass a woman with a mullett?

So I've got to make this snappy because Project Runway is getting ready to come on...well, in 30 minutes, but I have to get out my favorite TV watchin' blanket, and a 100 calorie pack of cookies. So, I'm on a limited timeframe. But I've got so much to say...there's the training, and well, the training...so let's get to it.

First off, I'll just come out and preface this by saying that I'm a bitch. I'm an awful, elitist bitch and I am sure that when I have kids, I'll squander their lunch money on vodka. I say mean things about nearly everything, I'm fairly selfish, and I derive pleasure from other's pain (only some other people--I'm not heartless, just a bitch). So you can take this or leave this but I'm just callin' it like I sees it.

That training today...sucked. First off, I ended up being the only one from my office going (there were supposed to be 3 of us), because it is almost time for school to start so others were too swamped. Since I am the low man on the totem pole (I have only been working there 6 months), I ended up going alone. So I get this phone call that I'm going alone, and I am running late anyway because I thought it would be a great idea to pack my lunch to save money and all. So instead of doing it up as right as I was gonna (wearing my interview suit and all of that) I end up slapping together a comfy little ensemble of jacket, tank, and black pants and run out the door. When I get to the Holiday Inn, I go running in, and I'm all upset because I've brought my brown purse instead of the black, "professional" looking one. And I am wearing black shoes. I can see my mother rolling her eyes in my head. So I check in, and slap my little nametag on my boob (nice touch for a talk about sexual harassment, huh?). And I walk in, and what do I see? Consummate professionals, you might answer. Business people on Blackberries, you might say. And I would say, "HELL TO THE NO. I should be so lucky!" I open up the door and I see a roomful of overweight 40 something women wearing jeans, sweatshirts, and those horrible cropped pants that women of a certain age are often rocking. And two have them have mulletts. I shit you not. One curly and blonde, and one straight and black. They look at me like I am simulataneously on fire and covered in ice. And this one in the back, a particularly fat one in a leather jacket that could double as a slipcover if this heinous beast ever deems it necessary, looks up from her sexual harassment pamphlet and goes, "We-ell, she's dressed for success, now ain't she?" Now, I'm telling you. I live in the Bay Area, and I'm not saying that it is the most cultured place on the world, but I have never seen this kind of people gathered together here. It was uncanny. I felt like I was in Alabama, or at least back home. So I take my seat, and try to be inconspicuous. Turns out, the class is basically for receptionists and the like. And I don't have a problem with receptionists. They rock at what they do, and I wish we had one at work, as it would make my job so much easier. But I don't really want to hang out with a group of receptionists. Especially when they get going about how hard their job is and how they don't get paid enough and how that you don't need no stinkin' college education to be a good person, dammit! And while I agree with those sentiments in many ways, I half expected for someone to grab me from behind and say "The witch has a BA! She must BURN!"

So that's how I spent my day. I learned about sexual harassment and what to do if it happens, what to do if it could happen, what to do if you don't think it will happen, but if there's still that chance that it might. I listened to what basically turned into an empowerment ritual for the women that life forgot, and I felt mildly bad, but mostly my feeling bad was done in recompense for me just wanting to leave, go take a shower, and then go to the mall.

They had mulletts for shit's sake! MULLETTS. And it wasn't a borderline mullett, like one where you think maybe someone just needs to go to the hairdresser, and they don't mean for it to look like that, they've just been busy and haven't quite made it yet. It was a mullett that you know that someone asked for, that you could just imagine someone saying, "Could you cut that around my ears? Oh, and keep it long in the back. The length makes a man hot, but it's that view of the earlobe that really sets him off!"

But anyway, here's the rundowns:

Today's outfit: Luella for Target navy blue blazer, white Old Navy tank top (you gotta love the $5 Old Navy tank top--Can I get an Amen?), black Express pants, black wedge heels.

Today's make-up: same as yesterday, except today I rocked the Sonia Kashuk lipstick in Pink Jasmine. It's more professional than a gloss. Seriously. I thought about that. And then I end up spending the day with Mullett Women of the 24th 1/2 Century.

Today's purchases: One turkey sandwich on whole wheat, no mayo, and a fruit cup at Panera Bread. Because, yes, I packed my lunch. Yes, I thought to put it in a cooler. Yes, it nearly made me late. But there was a Panera Bread. And I was easily swayed by it. OK? I can't be good all the time...

Ok, onto the mullett free world of Project Runway (I swear to God, if Jeffrey Sebelia gives some woman a mullett out of hate and spite, I just may have to murder him with a pair of scissors.).

Pain, Suffering, and Tar-jay

So the Back to Morgan campaign is going...well, it's going. I got up at my new time (6:00 a.m.) this morning for another work-out, and my legs are so incredibly sore today that I have been hobbling around like an old lady. And not a cool old lady. A wicked, gnarled, evil old lady. I even showed up to a meeting 10 minutes early today so that I would have ample time to lower myself into a chair without having anyone stare at me in my pained state. It has been so, so laughable. But, in a way, it kind of inspires me to do more. It's like my boss said--the pain feels good because it lets me know what muscles I haven't been using for so long. Let's just say there are a lot of them. I guess you don't use too many muscles flipping through channels and watching marathons of Flavor of Love. Who knew?

So I am much in pain, and slightly hungry. My body still hasn't gotten used to the reduced caloric intake, but I am looking forward to the day that it does. I almost broke and had a Joe Joe cookie this afternoon, because I'm thinking, "It's organic--how bad can it be?" One cookie is like 70 calories! One freaking cookie! I never knew. And not that that's a bad thing--I would just rather, if I am going to eat 70 calories of something yummy, have a miniscule piece of awesome Brie or something like that. Not. A. Processed. Cookie. But anyway, whatever. I am fixing salads for supper tonight, and I bought myself the most divine Dutch bleu cheese. I figure if I can only have a little, it better be good.

On to things that do not involve my digestive system...today a student came in, and while he was waiting on his interview, I just started a little conversation. I'm finalizing orientation right now, so it's mega-stressful, and I needed a break. Somehow we started talking about writing, and I mentioned that I am only working in my job until I can actually support myself with a writing gig (which will be a long time--my last "take" from a lit mag was $50 and three copies of the mag) . He goes, "Oh, yeah, I'm a writer too." So I get all interested, because I love talking to other writers (side note: my aesthetician is a writer too, so when I go for a bikini wax, it is almost pleasurable to get to talk to her. This is weird, I know). So I say, "Well, what kind of writing do you do?" And he goes, "Oh, all kinds of stuff, but I like to do fanfic." So I'm thinking, "What the hell is that?" but I suddenly remember this INCREDIBLY, PAINFULLY geeky girl I used to work with ages ago (well, not that long ago if you read this blog regularly--he he) who did that and how she wrote about Star Trek or something and how we all used to make fun of her (ah, memories of the midget priest!). I immediately think, "Oh, so you're not a REAL writer."

This brings me to my next phases of Back To Morgan. Turns out, I'm not so much a REAL writer either. I have an 80 page novella on both my work and home computer, but I haven't worked on it in ages. My last short story was written quite a while ago, and was no where near the quality that I wanted it to be. And I can't tell you the last time that I had a great idea that I was truly excited about. So, I need to get back in the swing of things. I need to write so that I'm a better person. Which brings me to...

I need to be a better person. I need to stop differentiating between "Real Writers" and "Nerdy, Geeky People Who Need to Get Laid in the Worst Way." I need to stop reading other people's blogs so that I can feel better about my own life. I need to stop making snarky comments about people who haven't found their way yet. I need...

Oh, screw it. That's not going to happen. I have a much better chance of writing the great American novel than I do of stopping the snark. Sad, but true.

So anyway, I'm a bitch, but if you care, here are the Back To Morgan Daycaps.

Today's Outfit: black Michael by Michael Kors pants (I usually wear these on Wednesday's to coincide with Project Runway day, but they're really comfy, and I need comfy today), purple double layer Tara Jarmon for Target tank, floral Tara Jarmon for Target trench coat, black round toe Aldo flats (see, the pain was so bad I wore flats...seriously, it's that bad).

Let me just interrupt to say, I love the Go International line at Target. I heart it with a ferocity that is only eclipsed by my love for cheese and VH1. I have quite a few pieces from each collection. But I have yet to buy any of the Paul and Joe stuff. Not that I haven't wanted to. In fact, I am thinking of buying the hoot-owl bag I saw online the other day. I'll keep you posted. But just know, if you want cheap and chic, Go International is the way to do it up right.

Today's Makeup: BareMinerals foundation and mineral veil, Benefit Dallas blush (LOVES IT), Sonia Kashuk eye shadow in neutral territory (applied with my new Sonia Kashuk brush set--thanks, Mom!), Benefit Bad Gal Lash, Benefit Lip Gloss in Rave Reviews.

Today's purchases: None. I paid the PG&E bill and it depressed me. So I didn't buy anything today. Not even a coffee. It's a wonder I'm functional at this point.

In tomorrow's edition: Morgan goes to a sexual harassment training! Won't that be fun! (I'm serious. Three "team leaders" in my office have to go. I thought it was cool to be a leader, until I found out that I'm going to a sexual harassment training. In a Holiday Inn. Is that not paradoxical on some level? )

Back to Morgan

So it's that time, kiddies. Back to School time! And for the second year, I'm not going back to anything. It kind of sucks. All those years of laying on my couch, reading a crazy amount of fashion magazines in hopes of making a grand entrance into the next school year have rendered me unable to live life in the month of August without the hopes of returning to something. It doesn't help that I live with someone who is going back to school, and work with a lot of people who are going back to school--in fact, it's pretty much my job to help people go back to school, and then listen to them bitch when they decide they hate it.

Therefore, I have declared it "Back to Morgan" time, which means that I am making myself over. I'm not even sure of what this makeover means yet, I just know that changes will be made. So I am going to update the ole blog in an attempt to show myself what I have done and how I have changed. Isn't that a grand idea? Well, it's probably not. But at any rate, it is what it is. And I have decided to keep track of all things related to my outward appearance, so it is on here as well. You can either read it or ignore it.

So here's today's news: I have decided to get up at 6:00 am in the morning, in order to work out in the morning before I come to work. So, today was the first morning. Let's just say that I have now officially worked muscles in my legs that I didn't know I had. In fact, I am quite certain that I only have these muscles available to work at 6:00 a.m. So I came to work with my legs shaking. But that's cool, because I AM BACK INTO THE ANTHROPOLOGIE PANTS I BOUGHT AGES AGO AND HAVE NEVER FIT INTO EXCEPT THIS ONE DAY IN THE ANTHROPOLOGIE FITTING ROOM. So I am happy. Extremely happy. Nevermind that because the pants used to be skintight I didn't bother to hem them and today had to wear my stripper heels to keep them from dragging the floor. Never mind that. But ladies, I am back in them, and that is good. And I know it probably had nothing to do with today's work-out, but because I am back in them, it has made me want to work out more, and eat less. I had freakin' spinach for lunch today. Spinach with balsamic vinegar. And, had it been other day, I would have recoiled from lack of meat, cheese or butter, but because it is today, I ate it with a smile and a big ole glass of water.

So, without further adieu, I give you:
Today's Outfit: FABULOUS brown striped sailor pants from Anthropologie, Luella for Target ivory Victorian shirt, fitted denim jacket, brown/gold stipper heels (seriously--they are stripper heels. I bought them at Frederick's, and use them when I do my strippercise, which is another story for another day. They have a six inch heel and they are FIERCE.)

Make-up: BareMinerals foundation and mineral veil, my beloved Benefit Dallas blush, Sonia Kashuk eyeshadow in neutral territory, Benefit Bad Gal Lash, C.O. Bigelow Mentha Lip Tint in the brown tinted color (not sure the exact name)

Today's Purchases: None, spare a tall coffee at Starbucks (because I might as well make over my finances while I'm at it).

I'll spare you my food log which I am keeping seperately.

God, I'm a geek. But with any luck, I'll be a better looking geek in no time flat!

You know everyone probably has that day where they're like, "That moment right there is when it all started going down hill." Like for instance, Mel Gibson's probably involves the moment when he thought it would be a good idea to have that third tequila shot. Britney Spears may have had the moment when she pretended to hurt her knee so that she could run around Malibu barefoot with an aspiring rap star. And perhaps George W. Bush's moment came when he finally decided to give up the sauce.

But my moment came when I decided to take a once-in-a-lifetime tutorial from the Xerox guy on how to work the new copy machine. That moment right there was when everything went downhill.

Whyever why? you ask. Why could something as simple as taking a class to learn how better to utilize the functions of the WorkCenterPro 90 be perhaps the worst decision you have ever made? And to this I answer: You are a naive fuck. Here's why: when you know how to work something like a copy machine, PEOPLE ASSUME YOU KNOW HOW TO WORK SOMETHING LIKE A COPY MACHINE. And they don't shut up--no matter the time of day, they are at my desk with these strange, wilting looks, saying things like, "I don't know what I did, but the copy machine won't work anymore. Can you come look at it? PUH-LEASE???" And to this, I have to, of course, go look at the darn thing and delete their job or whatever it is, all the time listening to their halfwit explanations--"I just put it in once. I swear I did. And it made this weird noise. I think it just doesn't like me. I think I hit the right button, but what would happen if I didn't?" Oh. My. Lord. It is crazily infuriating. Like you have no idea.

And here's the thing: I work at a university. Note that it's not exactly Ivy League around here, but there are more than enough Ph.D.'s roaming the halls to make it a more enlightened environment than say, a truck stop. But no one here can use the damn copier. They can't even follow the on-screen guides which tell you how to remove paper jams and the like. They can just stand there and look bewildered and bellow for me to come "FIX IT! FIX IT PLEASE!"

So, yes, folks. That is when it happened. On the morning that I met the Xerox man, my life began its long depression into suckitude.

Thank God for Jack Daniels.