20 Apr 2009
11:55 am
Well, with Ali’s help I finished my statement of relevance or critical-ness, or what I’m calling the anti-shit-can-manifesto, as in "Please corporate, do not shit-can me." For I have written a particularly bitchin' manifesto.
Ali and I did the total after work cocktails on Friday—which felt surprisingly scandalous and old school. I highly recommend it. There's just something about drinking in a dark upscale bar when it's still bright and sunny outside that makes you feel kind of dirty and sexy, like an extra from the 80's film Wall Street (Netflix it, it's fabulous, if only for the hairdos). Or like how you thought being a career girl in NYC would always be when you were in school—only to realize that on non-Pilates class nights you'd race home, tear off your heels and climb into your leopard print pajama pants and the baggy Ricky Gervais is God t-shirt. Just me? Eh. Whatevs.
Anyway we had a nip or two of really great scotch and hammered that muther out. I
still can't believe how hard sticking up for yourself to that degree
is. It felt really really unnatural to me. But I'm guessing it'd be way
less squirmy for a man. I really talked up my general workhorse-ness, but also hammered home my
sense of style and what an asset that is to the company. I
mean who is going to find the next new fabulous shinola if not moi?
Naomi? I mean seriously, the woman has a Beanie Baby collection. Kept
in a glass case complete with under cabinet lighting. Know how I know? Cause she keeps a framed photograph of it on her desk at work.
So yeah, by all means, put the image of the company in her hands. I totally dare you.
