Tuesday, April 7, 2009

We need some Miss Clairol up in here!

One of the guys in my office is doing interviews for a new assistant, so we've had a steady stream of applicants coming through since Friday. All of them seem nice and go out of their way to be friendly to me for some odd reason; I have no power or say over whether they get the job or not, but I guess they don't know that. Well, I shouldn't say that I have NO say, because the guy who's hiring is actually one of my only actual friends in the office, and is THE only person from the office with whom I spend time outside of work.

So, I already vetoed the ballerina chick who seemed WAY too anal and intense to be a good fit for this rag-tag bunch o' hooligans, and we mutually vetoed the mole woman who showed up 20 minutes late. Seriously - she looked like a Simpsons character; big eyes, mousy hair bobbed to her chin in a jagged cut that looked suspiciously like it had been done with a Flowbee, nondescript brown trench coat that went to her ankles... eesh.

Hmm, what was my point again? Oh YEAH. So one of these applicants was especially friendly and talkative. I'm just sitting here, discretely reading dlisted and checking my email, and she is just going on and on and on. Turns out she has two sons, as do I, but her sons are ages 16 and 19. So, I'm doing some math here (don't be alarmed by the burning smell... happens every time I work wit' numbas) and I realize that she is probably in her mid-40's. Which means she is only 10 years older than I am, thereabouts.

Dude. The woman has that "MOM" vibe like no one else. She has the short gray hairdo, the cardigan sweater, the pleasantly-plump physique.


But, well, I don't think I'll be looking quite that matronly in 10 years, ya know? God, I hope not! I dress appropriately for my age, sure, but I really don't think I'm gonna step off the ledge into Frump Town, USA that early on...?

I hope. Or maybe I'm just kidding myself and I'm doomed to give in to the gray hair and whatnot. It's the whatnot that scares me.


garrito said...

Take it from someone who knows: if you're not frumpy at 30, you're not frumpy at 40. Why, at this very moment I'm wearing a t-shirt featuring a monkey carrying a boom box.

Samsmama said...

I'm wearing a shirt with Chief Wiggum's (totally blanking on his name) kid on it. He's wearing a leotard and it says "Drop it like it's hot". Seriously! What's his name? Martin?

Anyway, no need to go out and buy mom jeans just yet.

Bev said...

Goddamnit, Garrito! That's TWICE today that you've made me snort with laughter. Thank you, and thanks for that awesome visual image!! Pics, please. :)

Samsmama - that would be Ralph. And I'm totally jealous that you have that shirt! My husband has the Homer Simpson shirtless "Hottie" shirt.

Bev said...

Oh, and Samsmama... you fucking rule with the mom jeans reference! I hope, in 10 years, you come back and tell me I've entered Frump Town, USA. I'll know just what you mean, and will take measures at once to remedy the situation. :)

Matter Of Fact Mommy said...

seriously, i'm dyyying here! oh how you all make-a me laff...

bev, just yesterday i was driving through my neighborhood on the way home with my 2 1/2 yr old daughter and saw that same lady. but she was walking with her husband (it was hard to tell who was the woman and who was the man, actually) and their dog. and i thought, "OH MY GOD, HOW DO YOU LET YOURSELF GO LIKE THAT?!" i think in these situations, there must be some SEVERE estrogen loss around menopause. that's the only thing i can think of... like, suddenly these "women" feel that they should chop their hair off, let the gray grow in a sport a nice, brill-o-ey mustache.

(and, of course the obligatory, "not that there's anything wrong with that.")

Samsmama said...

Ralph!! Dammit, I KNEW that!

My husband has a Mr.T t-shirt. Or, Mr.T-shirt, as we call it. It's hot.

And my purpose in life is to deter you AWAY from frump town. Which I'm thinking won't be hard to do.

Harmony said...

Oh no...I sit alone in frump town USA. It's 11:00 and I am still in my jams. WTF..right? I live in the middle on no where. But, I love my hair dye way too much to ever sport a gray bob. I am saving my gray days, for my blue slipper, disheveled wearing...getting lost in the middle of the road time. I am also going to call EVERYONE Scotty..but I will say it "Scottay". I don't know anyone Scotty so that should confuse the shit out of everyone.

jessica o said...

Harmony, compadre, I am wearing sweatpants that are washed once a week but worn everyday. They match the YMCA Staff t-shirt that has Ava's snot on it. My hair's a bob that's grown out unevenly, and I ate jellybeans for lunch. There's a good chance I won't be married anymore next year.

jessica o said...

Oh, and Bev, let my shame be your warning.

Bev said...

MOFM - I've come to terms with the fact that my comments are now way funnier than my blogs. I'm totally ok with that! Also, LMAO at "brill-o-ey" mustache!!!

Harmony & Jessica - don't get me wrong! I can chill in sweats & ripped shirts all the livelong day! I actually rush to my room to change into "comfy" clothes the second I get home from work each day. Work clothes are so... binding. Ugh. So believe you-me, if I were a SAHM I'd be living in pjs and covered in Cheeto dust 24/7!

Also, jelly beans make an excellent lunch. ;)

and Harmony - you KILL me!! Scottay? Brillz.

Mala said...

How did I come to this conversation so late!
Ahhh Bev, your blow by blow account of Joe's Adventures In Assistant Land is fantabulous! All I get from him is "Well, one was cute, and another one was so-so".
Oh and by the way, YOU DO HAVE FINAL SAY ON WHO HE HIRES! Seriously, after his last 2 hires he has no business doing the interviewing!
I so hear ya on the FrumpTown! I REFUSE! When I go to the hairdresser (which isn't often enough, but more on that in a moment) I always warn her that if she dare make me look like a soccer mom I will kill her with her own shears!
And speaking of Clairol, I had a bit of a mis-hap this morning. I think I may need to blog about it for theraputical reasons. But let's just say, Gene Simmons and I are rocking the same 'do. Eff.

Jill said...

I'm cracking up here! Bev - I'm what, 7 yrs closer to frump town than you? And since I'll NEVER end up there I think it's safe to say I'll bitch slap you if you start heading there (um, in the nicest way of course). Ix-nay the Mrs. Talkative - I realize that I myself do that (at least there's never those embarassing silences around me) but if she talks that much on the interview day how will you EVER be able to get quite at work (other than hiding under your desk - just be careful not to fall asleep there)

Matter Of Fact Mommy said...

since bev admits that the first thing she does when she walks in the door is change into "comfy" clothes, i'll admit it too. in fact, since i leave after asshole in the morning and get home before him, he hasn't seen me in anything other than holey sweats and giant t-shirts for quite some time.

Jess, i may not be married next year either. but there will be more to it than my appearance. heh.

Harmony, what's with Scottay?! that made me laugh entirely too hard...

raskal said...

The first thing Zoe does upon coming home (during the winter, that is) is change into pajamas. Even though we say, "Zoe, you're going to have to take a bath," she says, "you have your comfers on, why can't I?"

Me = Frump

Bev said...

Mala - can't wait to see that Gene Simmons 'do! HAWT! But, can you do that tongue thing? ;)

Jill - thank you for the offer to "nicely" bitch-slap me if I enter frump town! I will hold you to that, missy, and do likewise!

MOFM - I hear that! My poor husband is very tolerant of my general state of disrepair, mostly because he has to immediately change into some form of comfy clothes upon getting home, too. Birds of a feather, and all that.

Lisa - Danny jumps into pjs immediately, too. He has sooo many pairs. It's ridonk.

Also, you = awesome. :D

Cary said...

My favorite t-shirt has a picture of Aunt Esther from Sanford & Son saying, "You old fish-eyed fool." My sister said it was racist. I told her to shut the fuck up. I put the shirt on when I get home from work. Sometimes I wear pants, sometimes I don't. Sometimes I just put on my Jockey brand bikini briefs and a coonskin cap and practice my fencing moves in the front yard. The neighbors have called the police on me more than once, but there's no law against fencing in your underwear, even bikini briefs.