Colder Than My Heart...

Welp, it’s officially miserably cold here in the city again. The past few days have managed to be just warm enough to offer a hint that Spring is just around the corner- and by just I mean a couple of long, grueling, frigid months away. Yesterday as I indulged in a manicure and brow wax downtown, I was pleasantly surprised to find I hardly needed my wool coat, and instead could manage fairly well in my jumper/blazer combo (don’t judge, it was cute- and revolved entirely around the previous days $25 lunch hour find). However, I found myself experiencing a bit of hesitation when it came to forgoing the coat- after all it was January 28- the dead of DC winter, and I did not want to push my luck.

Evidently many other women around town had no issue doing so, and for that reason I am holding them directly responsible for the fact that it is miserably cold today and will continue to be for the foreseeable future. I am saddling the blame on two ladies in particular, both of which I had the pleasure of passing en route to my beautification sesh.

Guilty Party #1: The Hippie Chick

Dear lord- whoever let this lady off her commune, please come back and claim her. I had the joy of walking behind the Hippie Chick, providing myself a safe distance in which to assess the absurd ensemble she was sporting. The first item I took offense to (and of which I am certain angered the Gods just as much- thus causing them to unleash tundra like conditions upon the Metro area) was her tiered peasant skirt. This bothered me not just because it is entirely inappropriate office wear, but also because it was WHITE. STARK WHITE. A stark white, tiered peasant skirt? Perhaps frolicking in a field somewhere in June…but strolling the streets of DC in January? No. Seasonally, age, and locationally inappropriate ma’m. To top it off (literally), this lady’s locks mimicked the tiers of the skirt, though in the case of her hair, the divisions amongst tiers was not bright white satin ribbon. Instead, each layer was distinguished by a different color of hair-dye. The bottom was a reddish brown, above that more of an ash, the third (and most perplexing) was a grayish color, before ending in a shock of blonde at her roots. I can only imagine that this hair style further angered the aforementioned Gods, and this lady is not only responsible for the chilly temps but also the impending snow. Way to go.

Guilty Party #2: The Mystic Maiden

Alright, so back in ninth grade I was the proud owner of a pair of black Steve Madden slides. They were basically like an inch and half high platform with a stretchy black band over the top and open toes, of which I made good use displaying my hot pink toe nails and their accompanying floral design. They were cool, and by extension I like to think that I was too. However, like many a trend, this one fell out of favor before the end of sophomore year and I retired the look. Unfortunately, my new friend the Mystic Maiden kept them around long enough to break them out yesterday and sport them along with a pair of black leggings. A look that exposed just enough of her ankle to display the obvious remnants of a poor quality Mystic Tan (someone clearly did not watch the instructional video…). There was so much wrong with this picture that I had to pause to take it all in…and to type a note in my Blackberry reminding me of this sighting. Open toed SANDALS in JANUARY. Why was this even a consideration when she was getting dressed this morning?! My assumption is that she was blinded by the fact that her skin was the unnatural color of Cheet-o’s, thus preventing her from seeing the major faux pas she was committing, nonetheless, I am appalled and absolutely not excusing this behavior. Hopefully she wore those same slides today, and the cold of the air will reach her toes and shock her into realizing her circa summer 2001 shoe choice brought this upon the rest of the city.

Let this be a lesson…

Gym-servations

I do my best to squeeze a workout in before heading to the office...even hiring on a personal trainer to assist me in my quest to be hott (fyi- almost a year in, and still no where near said goal). On the laziest days, I exert myself only as much as it takes to plug my headphones in and watch The Today Show whilst meandering along the treadmill belt. On more rigorous days, I employ a range of both cardio and resistance training. And though I am pretty sure I don't know how to do the latter part of this coupling correctly, there are plenty of people sweating alongside me (ew.) that are even more clueless...or just plain weird. In the past ten months I've observed these folks and their bizarre gym behavior, making mental notes of their absurdity, creating little nicknames for them and generally wondering what precisely is going through their minds. Allow me to introduce you the cast of characters I share my mornings with:

"Blue": unfortunately Blue isn't quite a regular, however it's a rare treat when this silver fox strides into the gym. No, its not a handsome physique or dazzling smile that catches my eye, rather its the fact that he's roughly eighty-two and his choice of gym attire is a maroon wrestling singlet. Perhaps he's a pro in the retirement home wrestling circuit, or is yearning for his glory days when he won states in 1802, however I still find his workout getup to be entirely inappropriate for his age, and for public consumption.

"Walter and the Future Mrs. Mitty": For those of you unfamiliar with the tale of Walter Mitty, its a lovely story about a husband and his ridiculously overbearing and somewhat controlling wife. This same relationship is expertly displayed each morning by a doughy-looking gentleman (Walter) and his pint-sized, super-fit fiance, aka The Future Mrs. Mitty (FMM). Clip board in hand, she leads him through a barrage of stretching, cardio and weights, all of which he completes with an utter lack of enthusiasm or skill. Hence, no change in the aforementioned doughy physique. During the routine, FMM is either working out alongside Walter, completing each task with absolute intensity or standing next to him, barking orders and making attempts to correct his form as he half-heartedly struggles through whatever task she's assigned. I'm pretty sure this dynamic is not limited strictly to the gym floor, and instead I'm fairly confident FMM wears the pants in all aspects of the relationship.

These is just a smattering of the gems I have the privilege of working out with...more to come.

Maybe its Menopause?

Whoever is in charge of regulating the temperature of my office building is doing a terrible job. Within the five day work week it is possible for employees to suffer both frostbite and heat exhaustion. Luckily I have control on the temperature inside my actual office, keeping it the exact appropriate temperature to accommodate my fall work wardrobe. That way, regardless of if the temperature in the corridors is either sweat inducing or absolutely frigid, I know that I can retreat into my own little bit of climate-controlled heaven.

My boss, however, does not seem to grasp that I am aware of my office temperature...it is unclear if she is ignorant of the fact that I possess control over this or if my suspicions are true and that as a Communications Director she just sucks at communicating. Yesterday, when the rest of the building was swelteringly hot, my office was a cool respite of bliss. My boss popped her head in- as shes prone to doing at inopportune times (read: when I am facebooking, blogging, shopping, homeworking...), though instead of tasking me with something absurd or inquiring about the status of a project I had updated her on an hour before, she simply stated "It's cool in here," followed immediately by an awkward smile. I politely nodded yes, to which she inquired "You like it cool?" I could not justify this with an answer so I just stared at her. Seriously, I am so confused. Is this an attempt at small talk? Does she not notice its roughly two hundred and twelve degrees in the rest of the office and that the simple task of making a copy produced more sweat than my morning workout did? I could've dismissed this episode, except that the same thing transpired earlier today.

Rather than face the heat I endured yesterday, I walked into the building today to find it so cold I could practically see my breath. Shivering in my pencil skirt and short-sleeve, mock-turtle top, I was grateful for the comfort of my office, which was decidedly warm by comparison. Again, my boss pops her head in (literally...she seriously just sticks her face inside, supporting the rest of her body against the wall beside the door jamb), pauses, then astutely comments "It's warm in here," followed by the same awkward smile. I respond as I did yesterday, with a polite head nod. "You like it warm?" Seriously- its the same temperature it was yesterday. Not a smidge warmer or cooler. So no, I do not like it cool, nor do I like it warm, if you're curious about how I like my office, in general I prefer it when YOU'RE not in it.