The week in numbers

This is the recap of my week in numbers.  After all, I am an accountant, right?

# of dental appointments: 1.  Same goes for the # of very expensive and totally avoidable dental appointments.  If only one could purchase extra brain in the same way one could purchase another tooth bonding, so that one could avoid that another tooth bonding.

# of peanuts in one (old) Weight Watchers point: 13.  How do I know?  Yes, I am baaack.

(courtesy: collegelifestyles.org)

# of times lost my work ID: 2.

# of times found my lost work ID: 1.  This is just embarrassing because I have to ask my boss to sign off on getting a new one.  Again.

# of audits going on at work: 1, but trust me more than plenty.  In addition to beginning of the year/tax/closing of affiliates stuff.

# of nights staying late at work: 4 (Yay for being shabbat-observant.) Same goes for number of nights had to forgo checking and doing kids' homework.  Can't wait for teachers' phone calls, at least from those who care.

# of healthy home made suppers served to kids despite coming home late: 6, including home made pizza and home made bread.

(courtesy of time.com)

# of time burned myself making those suppers:  every effing time.  No kidding.

# of suppers the kids said they truly enjoyed: 1, when husband baked fish sticks.  Not homemade and/or healthy.  Just to clarify.

(courtesy of blog.ajc.com)

# of laundry baskets with clean clothes still unsorted: 4 (we are actually branching out to garbage bags.  On the other hand, fishing out needed items is just the right kind of entertainment we all need in the morning rush hour.)

# of fights with SubHub: 3, I think.

# of times broke down crying in front of own house: 1 (2 - is the number of neighbors who witnessed this. )

# of times I asked myself why I made a resolution to be furiously happy and not angrily miserable or perpetually overwhelmed because everyone knows that resolutions are made to not be kept:  every waking minute and some sleeping minutes too.

But when I thought about my resolution, I decided to look for positive things in my life.  Health!  Vision! I still had my vision.  Near-sighted, but still, vision.  Smell, I still had the sense of smell!  Umm, no, not with that lingering cold, I didn't.  Taste.  Yeah, my extra pounds could attest to my healthy sense of taste.  Extra pounds that could lead to diabetes, heart disease and premature death.  And cancer, how could I forget cancer? Who was I kidding?  I am Jewish, and as such cannot talk about health in a positive light.  We practically invented  hypochondria and passed it down from generation to generation from Mount Sinai together with our tradition.  Come to think of it, we might have been more successful in passing down hypochondria.

Relationships!  I must concentrate on relationships!  Except for the one with husband because he totally deserved what he got and if he didn't, will deserve it very shortly.

Decided to take a break from this post, call my folks and complain about hard week at work, not complain about hard week at home and hint at kids' ingratitude.  Only to find Mom sounding very weak and Dad breaking the news that Mom's really bad to begin with cancer was getting worse.

# of times I wish it weren't true - infinity.

P.S. The post was written before I found out how bad things were getting.  Except for the last paragraph.  Part of me wondered whether I should post it.  Or whether I should post the last paragraph.  Maybe, in light of the news, I should alter something, change things around. And then I thought that it's things like this, dwelling on minutiae of life, that are partially making me miserable at times.  So I decided not to overthink and publish things as they were.  After all, it is my life and that's how it goes: one minute you are writing a, hopefully, funny post about every day annoyances and next minute you get really bad news.)

Love,

SubWife

The origins

A few days ago I was passing by my Indian co-worker, Pinter. (Pinter is not his real name and he is not married to Sue Ellen Mischke.) He was eating lunch at his desk, but upon seeing me, motioned for me to come to his desk. Turns out he ordered a kosher falafel from one of the new kosher places near work. Somehow, every time someone non observant or not Jewish on the floor orders kosher, they feel the need to share this with me. I don't mind, I find it peculiar, but cute. Though I do feel somehow responsible if their meal does not meet their expectations.

This time, I could breathe with ease because we had a very happy customer. Pinter was widely smiling and asking me whether I had tried falafel from the new place. "It's very good,"declared Pinter. He described in detail the contents of his pita and commented on crispiness of the falafel balls. "It tastes just like falafel I had growing up." I had no idea that falafel was known in India. I was sure that the dish was of Middle Eastern origin, and also vaguely remembered a conversation with another Indian co-worker where falafel was mentioned, but as a newly discovered food. I was about to unleash all of my thought process on the poor Pinter, but something made me proceed with caution.

"Did you mother make falafel from scratch?" seemed reasonably safe.

"No, we usually bought it." How odd. I think his falafel was getting cold because I could sense the anxiety in Pinter's voice. But I couldn't let go. I had to find out which provinces in India were privy to the secrets of falafel making. Look, I never finished - ok, even started - War and Peace and must fill in the blanks in my primary education.

"Did it taste the same? Was it also in a pita?" I pressed on.

We got back on Pinter's favorite subject, I guess, though I am not sure whether it was his childhood or food, because all of a sudden he started reminiscing completely forgetting about the danger of the perfectly crispy falafel balls turning soggy. He described in great detail the falafel of his childhood, which oddly enough was very similar to the one he was eating right now. Then he seamlessly switched to other memories from childhood and finished with, "We were the only Indian family on the block." Waaaait a minute. What???

And then it hit me. I completely forgot that Pinter was born and bread in Boro Park, the heart of Jewish Brooklyn. He must've told me this a hundred times... Next time I talk to him, I must not forget that he lives in Monroe and does not commute from New Delhi... It would also be nice to bring the guy sufganiyot come Chanukah time. He must miss them like crazy...

A day at the office

Today I got a refresher course in business ethics and office conduct. Here are my findings/reminders:

1. a) Craving a drink @ 10.30 am is not a good sign.
b) Chances are, it will only get worse with every passing hour.

2. I don't care what Ms. Manners says, some emails must remain ignored and unanswered. Or printed out and burned. But still unanswered.

3. a) Getting into a fight with your boss is not a good career move.
b) Winning said fight is even worse.
c) Letting your boss walk all over you is not good for your career either.
d) Whatever you decide, you are screwed.

4. a) Spitting in your adversary's coffee, no matter how justified, is not considered professional conduct.
b) Too bad.

5. a) When it comes to work, have no loyalties except to yourself.
b) Because your "teammate" can turn on you in a matter of seconds for reasons known only to him.

6. a) Venting feels good.
b) Unless your boss overhears you venting.
c) About him.

7. Being "proactive" and "thinking outside of the box" are concepts for department meetings/pep talk only. When it comes to actual work, doing it SALY is encouraged, preferred and expected.

8. a) Learning to know when to shut up is priceless.
b) Never learning it is more entertaining.

9. Remember, you are an accountant, not a brain surgeon. Don't take your work so seriously. Nobody outside of accounting department does any way.

10. a) If you want that drink - 10.30 or not - just get it.
b) Those who say 10.30 am is too early for a drink must have never had a bad day at the office.

More of that jazz

About six months ago I've made a huge mistake. No, I did not develop a crush on Will Arnett. What would give you that idea? (Will, if you are reading this, leave a comment!) I had done something much, much dumber. In a casual conversation with a co-worker, who happens to be my cubicle neighbor, I have mentioned how much I hate listening to jazz, especially the one featuring female singers who are sadder than the sight of a terminally sick puppy and life without love combined. (Norah Jones, I know you are reading this and sweetie, I just cannot reciprocate your adoration for my talent. Nothing personal, but the year you won Grammy was one of the musically hardest for me.) Anyhow...

Guess what? Any office drone with a few months of work experience and an ounce of common sense knows what happens next. Almost immediately the guy starts listening to jazz. Featuring women who lost their will to live, but not their desire to whine sing about it. Nonstop. All day long. Very loud. Whine, whine, whine. Making me lose the ability to form full sentences.

However, I strongly believe that whatever happens, happens for a reason. To combat this auditory assault, I listen to my iPod, which has music on it only due to SubHub's kindheartedness and faulty earphones Due to the incredible laziness circumstances beyond my control I just can't ever find time to load anything on my iPod other than a few parenting lectures. At some point in the past, SubHub discovered the sad state of my iPod and took pity on me loading several Sting albums. (Sting, if you are reading this call Will Arnett, I've heard he's a huge fan!) SubHub also swiped my earphones in the process, but who's counting, right? So now, every time my musical nemesis turns up his volume, I take my iPod out and - miracle of miracles - my heart immediately fills with love for my husband. Who knew torture could be good for marriage? (Masochists, don't answer that.)

This stronger bond with SubHub, though, does not deter me from endlessly Googling "how to sabotage HP speakers without getting discovered."

>

Now this is the jazz I can listen to!

8 Things I would like to tell our auditors

I remember being a newbie auditor and a sense of terror I felt at my first few audits. That sense of terror was quickly replaced with being constantly overwhelmed by the amount of work and manager's questions and comments. That's why I am very surprised at how annoyed I am with our auditors this season. Let's make this clear - few companies like being audited, and we are no exception. Audit always generates extra work for everyone involved. It is a normal part of the job, however, and everyone tries to get through it with a sense of humor and in good spirits. This year, though, we have been blessed with a particularly "talented" bunch; everyone on the floor is grinding teeth. Hence this post...


1. Know your schedules. And their names. If accrued expense in not the schedule of vouchers paid during the year, that's because it DOESN'T BELONG THERE.

2. You are at a client. I don't know what the latest copy of In Style magazine says, but skirt (or pants) is not optional.

3. I can't prove to you that our subsidiaries don't have separate payroll accounts. The same way I cannot prove to you that dragons don't exist. You'll just have to take my word for it. AND REVIEW YOUR PAYROLL TESTING. You know, the testing you have already completed.

4. I don't care what your lead sheet says and why. You deal with your working papers, okay? and leave me out of it.

5. Whether the column is included in the total can be resolved by a simple arithmetic > the procedure involved while footing this schedule > the procedure you have already performed as part of your testing > the procedure that requires zero accounting background.

6. I don't care if you were a member of Beta Alpha Psi in college. If you can't find a balance on the bank statement, maybe accounting isn't for you.

7. I don't begrudge you stupid questions. I begrudge you the know-it-all attitude while asking them.

8. How many times can you ask the same stupid question? Please don't answer.

We are family

I have this huge rant post about loyalty to one's employer hovering in my head for the past two years, and I can't quite capture it on this blog. This unfortunate circumstance is mainly due to the lack of time at home since I don't blog/write posts from work out of loyalty to my employer, and not because I have been drowning in work and Blogger is now filtered out anyway .

So this is a shorter version/preview of the rant brought on by the staff meeting that took place today. Every time we have a staff meeting, our boss takes out our department's mission statement, makes someone read it aloud and reminds us about all the reasons why good G-d put our accounting department on this Earth. This mission statement is a product of a brainstorming session, which took place before I came on board. So today, in addition to reviewing, the boss reiterated that teamwork is a major part of our mission statement and how it is so important, how we all are one team, work for the same department and agency, we all have the same goals - to serve and protect, how we are all judged as one department and not individually (thought at different pay rates, obviously), blah, blah, blah - in essense, we are all one happy family and should strive to help each other.

And while all this political correctness was dumped on me, I couldn't chase away one thought: that out of the ten or so people who came up with this mission statement, three were let go, of which two were let go within six months of coming up with this magnum opus.

Yep, oooooone happy family...

How capitalism doens't always produce the greatest public good

I was reading cnn.com article on swine flu this afternoon. One comment after the article caught my attention. It said something like: Why would people go to work sick and send their sick children to school? Hmm, I thought. You are reading this article and writing a comment in the middle of the work day: you must either have a cushy office job, work for yourself or stay at home. Therefore, chances are you wouldn't understand. So let me explain to all those who might have the same question.

Employers in the U.S. are not obligated to provide paid sick leave to their employees. As a matter of fact if employee's sickness or disability results in too many absences or is negatively affecting his/her performance, that employee could be fired. Jobs that pay the least tend to be the ones that give no paid sick time off and part with their workers the easiest; and because these jobs pay so little, people working there tend be the most dependent on every penny they earn and not be able to afford missing a single day of work.

Well paying jobs are not that much better, but for different reasons. Ever missed a critical meeting/deadline/project due to sickness? No? I have. I was out two days during the "critical time" with 103 degree fever. Even though my employer at the time encouraged everyone sick to stay home and provided sufficient paid sick leave, I still got "the look" from the manager upon my return. You know, THAT look that makes you think, "Shoot, I should've crawled in that day just to show them how sick I was. And maybe thrown up for good measure during that important meeting, just for illustrative purposes." THE look that makes you think twice before calling in sick again. THE LOOK that you worry might be the kiss of death.

When it comes to keeping kids home when sick, employers tend to be even less sympathetic. "Couldn't she just get a sitter?" is a common thought or comment. Take my case for example, if I kept my kids home every time they exhibited signs of cold or flu, I would have to keep them home anywhere between 20-80% of the time, especially in winter months, and no employer would put up with that. Add to this whole mess the current state of the economy, when jobs get cut left and right and employers can easily replace you with someone willing to do your job for less and without family dramas, absences count against you, frequent absences (more than once a month) are guaranteed to cause problems.

One might say that people coming to work sick are acting selfishly by thinking only about themselves and paying their own bills, but I would counteract with "isn't that what capitalism is all about? Acting in your own best interest and not worrying about the society as a whole? And thus creating better public good?" In this case everyone is acting in their best interest. Employers protect their profits by not offering paid sick leave, employees protect their money by showing up to work sick and sending their children to school with runny noses. The result, however, is far from the greatest public good: more sick people and the possibility of an epidemic that would be hard to contain if sick people don't stay home.

Do you remember?

Our company instituted the new email retention policy, and now everything over 18 months old is automatically transferred into the "trash" folder and thereafter permanently erased in 30 days. Anything that we want saved must be either printed or saved elsewhere. So now every week or so I peruse the "trash" folder just to make sure there's nothing that needs saving.

Last week I found an old emailed sent by yours truly to her co-worker. It said, "Why am I not a lesbian? Why??? Why????" I wonder what precipitated this, but most likely I don't really want to remember. Ahh, memories that I don't have.

A girl can hope

I went to a wedding recently where I saw people I haven't seen in ages. It was a lot of fun to catch up with old friends. However, in the process I discovered that due to my careless commenting activity, I am not as anonymous as I thought I was. I must tell you, losing my illusion of anonymity was rather disappointing. It limits what and who I can write about because you never know who can be reading posts and if that person knows who SubWife really is. Anonymity gave me a certain degree of freedom - not only to badmouth anyone I saw fit, but also some freedom from worrying about having so much personal information out here on my blog, that is easily traceable to my real life persona.

Well, it is what it is and this new discovery means that 1) It's a good thing I didn't blog about my evil neighbors, 2) I probably should not have blogged about my noisy neighbors (I know, linking to the old post shows real remorse) and 3) I should stop blogging about my job. At least if I want to keep it. On the other hand, what kind of bad things could I possibly write about? With the exception of no-free-coffee policy, which was of course enacted to prevent over consumption of caffeine and not because of penny-pinching, this job is pure heaven. People are extremely nice, especially in the higher positions, and never ever drive you crazy with unreasonable demands. Co-workers never do anything annoying, like shaking their ice, clicking their pens or eating fish at their desks. And the paycheck is ginormous, I am not sure why because frankly I would pay to work there!

And now, if you'll excuse me, I have to vomit from all this sarcastic butt-kissing that, hopefully, no one from work will read. A girl can hope to remain at least somewhat anonymous, right?

The milk thief strikes again

Our company, one of the biggest health care providers in the country, is the only company I have heard of that doesn't provide coffee for its employees. Well, maybe in some other departments they do, but I somehow doubt that. Since they don't pay for coffee, they, of course, don't pay for the milk either. Therefore, from time to time I bring milk from home. I use it mostly to lighten and sweeten my coffee, so I don't really mind sharing. As a matter of fact, I tell a few people I am friendly with that I have brought milk and they are more than welcome to partake.

The problem is that today I have found my bottle of milk 1/3 empty. I had only used it once and knew for a fact neither I nor the people I have offered my milk, took it. (I did not conduct an investigation, they have simply been out of the office either on vacation or training.) And that's not the first time this had happened. Almost every time I bring in milk, someone takes quite a big chunk of it. And that, frankly, ticked me off today, big time.

As I was standing in the kitchen making my coffee, visibly upset, one of my co-workers came in and asked me what happened. I told him, but then the pushover in me started feeling like a cheapskate for complaining about something so small. And I started going on how it's not about the money (it really isn't), but about inconvenience (I can't just run out to Duane Reade to replace it for several reasons) and me being left without breakfast on several occasions because someone decided, for no good reason, that their bowl of cereal is more important that mine.

And now I am mad at two people. The first person is,of course, the person who has been taking my milk. Honestly, what gives? You know it's not yours and you know that the company doesn't provide it, so why the heck would you feel entitled to it? Seriously? That's stealing, pure and simple. And if you are hungry and desperate, all you have to do is ask. That bottle literally has my name on it, for goodness sake!

And the second person is myself. Why was I so apologetic about my feelings to another co-worker? After all, I am the one who has been wronged, no matter how insignificantly. I didn't do anything wrong.

And then it got me thinking. In any office, there is one or two individuals who do this kind of thing. I remember in another place I worked at, there was a candy thief. During tax season the junior staff would take turns bringing in chocolates and sweets. And those sweets would go suspiciously fast. Other people on the floor complained that their candy would disappear from their desk drawers. One night while staying in very late, one of us found this candy thief. It was one of the senior partners who waited for everyone to be gone to go on the prowl. The guy made more money than all of us, junior staff, put together, and could certainly ask the office manager to supply him with chocolates.

So really, what gives?

You are stressing me out!

I am in one of those moods today - everything is annoying me. The source for these feeling is obviously coming from work. No one expected me to come back as early as I did even though I came back exactly when I told them when still 7 months pregnant. I shudder at the thought of what would have awaited me had I taken the full three months of maternity leave. I am swamped, actually I am more than swamped - I am drowning in work. I have so many high priority projects - my regular monthly work, which needs to be finished extra early and "taken to the next level" whatever that means, then some IS/Finance joint projects, then bank recs, system upgrade testing, and of course the new and improved tax form - I literally have 5 number 1 priorities, unless I am forgetting something. The fact that having that many "extra high" priorities defeats the purpose of calling them "high" does not deter my bosses from thinking what else they can throw on my lap. So that's the cause of stress which in turn causes me to be annoyed at everything and everyone.

Right now I am annoyed at:

1. the neighbors, who are causing my floor and wall to vibrate,
2. the fact that it's only 9 and I can't even threaten to call the cops on them,
3. it's already 9 and the kids are not asleep yet
4. the baby is very cranky and doesn't let me do anything, in addition to soiling three outfits in the past two hours
5. The house is a complete mess and the shabbat cooking has not even started
6. that I overate because of stress
7. that I am still hormonal 3 months postpartum.
8. the babysitting/end of school year/school vacation situation
9. the fact that I have to pump milk at least 3 times a day to keep up with the demand

And this is only the beginning... I feel bad for SubHub who might just bear the brunt of this mood.

P.S. Please do not remind me to count my blessings. I remember, but sometimes I just need to allow myself to be annoyed.

It's the same old song

One of my job responsibilities is approving requisitions. For the most part, it's a quick computerized process that doesn't take too much of my time. If everything is filled out correctly, that is. When it is not, then the fun begins.

I receive a requisition today that has errors in it. I call up the woman who filled the form and get an earful about all the details of the project that I don't need to hear. All I need to know is why the item described as "equipment" is coded to software. That's all. Nothing more, nothing less. But noooo, like the Energizer bunny, she keeps on going and going and going. Finally we reach an understanding, and then the woman completes this exchange with her usual accusatory, "Every time I fill out a requisition, there's something new."

I hang up the phone and only miraculously don't yell out, "No, Julie*, it's same old, same old. Every time you fill out a requisition, you make a mistake. Every. Single. Time. You are just not getting it, are you, that there is a difference between hardware and software???!!! Hardware is NOT software, that not a new idea, is it? And how in the world did you become an IT project manager without realizing this rather important concept?? Share this secret with me, will you?"

Part of me wishes I told her this.


*Obviously not Diana's real name.

On importance of being able to count

This is a public service announcement brought to you be a very hungry SubWife. Not being able to count can lead to starvation.

Ever since I came back to work, I started Weight Watchers. I was miserable any way, so why not? Those unfamiliar with the program - 1) eat a sandwich and gain some weight like the rest of the country, 2) all food on Weight Watchers is translated into points, which take into account calories, fiber and fat content of the given food, and each dieter is allowed a certain amount of points per day.

Last night after coming home from work, I was very, very hungry. So hungry I couldn't wait for dinner to be ready, so I made myself scrambled eggs. Together with a dinner roll, that meal was about 10 points. So I subtracted 10 from 29.5 points I had left, and came up with 9.5 points. It seemed a bit low, but hey, it's a diet, you are supposed to starve. To say that I was starving last night is a huge understatement.Long story short, I lost 10 points worth of food for no good reason, other than another psychotic moment involving math, and only discovered the loss this morning. In my boss's office. And made her aware of the tragic loss of yesterday. Repeatedly. Despite important matters that were discussed.

I can feel my promotion is coming any minute now. And by promotion I mean a coupon to a local pizza shop.

Back to reality

Unread emails in the in-box: 245
Number of people asking "Back already?": 8
Number of frantic phone calls: 6 (2 to the babysitter, 4 to SubHub)
Attempts to cry: 3 (2 mine, 1 DS's)
Successful attempts to cry: 0
Realization that we all survived my first day back to work: priceless.

T minus 7

It's back to work one week from now. As the time approaches, more and more reminders of this inevitable fact pop up: papers I need filled out by my doc, making sure I have something that fits and looks professional, frozen breast milk in my freezer. The thought of leaving my child at the age of two months with someone else brings this overwhelming feeling of sadness, so I put the papers away, shut the freezer and don't check my email. I procrastinate as much as I can, but I can't keep up this act for much longer.

One would think that leaving children in care of others somehow gets easier with each consecutive child. While I will say that #1 was extremely emotionally draining, I cannot say that #3 is easier than #2. Maybe even harder on some level. I keep reminding myself how much I hate housework, the social isolation, the feeling of being couped up in the house, especially when it rains for days, like it has been for the past few days. But everything fades in comparison to the loss of ability to pick up my baby when I please, nurse her, look into her face and beg her to smile. Instead I will have to settle for phone updates, picture on my screen saver and frantically looking for an empty office to pump.

Hey, here's another confession. When I say I would go insane staying at home, I believe what I say at that particular moment. I have to. Because frankly I don't have a choice. But deep down inside I know that given an opportunity, I would embrace that insanity.

Book meme

So I have been tagged by Sally Hazel for this meme. My first one! Where do I start?

Here are the rules: Grab the nearest book. Open the book to page 56. Find the fifth sentence. Post the text of the next two to five sentences in your journal/blog along with these instructions. Don’t dig for your favorite book, the cool book, or the intellectual one: pick the CLOSEST. Tag five other people to do the same.

"The existence of a day of judgment means that God is interested in us. He cares. What we do does ultimately matter."

Shimon Apisdorf, Rosh Hashanah Yom Kippur Survival Kit

I am writing this from work during lunch, so this was the closest book to my computer. I am not showing off. Actually, quite the opposite. This is the unequivocal proof that I am more than qualified to start a disorganized religion of my own. I was carrying this book with me before Rosh Hashanah to refresh a few ideas and maybe finally finish reading it. I am fairly certain that I didn't finish it and instead fell asleep every time I took it out of my purse. And one time I had too many things in my purse, so I took the book out planning to declultter my purse and bring the book home the very next day. (Wait, I need to take a break and wipe off the tears - I am laughing so hard. Declutter! The very next day! hahahahaha)

Of course I didn't, and once in a while I would bump into the book and promise myself to finally bring it home. Over time, the book migrated closer and closer to my computer, in hopes of serving as a reminder and eventually making it to the bookshelf in my living room. It finally became a permanent fixture on my work desk a few months ago and blended in with the rest of the stuff, so I stopped noticing it. Until I got this meme and was horrified that I might need to quote my accounting textbook. Fear not though, it probably would never get to that. I realized that I have two more books on my desk (all close by, so I wouldn't forget to bring them home) before Intermediate Accounting becomes the next physically closest to me.

I am not tagging anyone. Seems like everyone had already done this meme. If you are reading this and haven't done it yet, consider yourself tagged.

On cookies, donuts and organized religion

These are just my musings on the topic of Holiday Season. They are too short to get a post of their own, plus I am not sure if I'll manage to get another post out for this to be relevant. So there. Oh, and before I forget,

HAPPY CHANUKAH!!!

Holiday season happens to be the time when our large vendors send us, their good customers, Christmas baskets with edible goodies. I do appreciate the thought and all, but would it kill them to send something kosher? I mean, we live in NY, how hard could it be? Yes, I do realize that complaining about Christmas baskets not being kosher is at best ironic. But when the 3 p.m. hunger strikes and everyone around happily munches on gourmet cookies while you hope to satiate yourself with your own saliva, philosophical musings are the last thing that comes to mind.

Here's one for marriage experts to illustrate that men truly are from Mars. I call hubby today and ask if he would like some donuts. Ask any woman (any sane woman) what that means, and she will tell you, “Honey, would you be so kind as to pick up a few dozen donuts from the bakery on your way home?" What does a male hear? "Honey, would you be so kind as to allow me to spend hours in kitchen for the honor of serving you some home made donuts?" and replies with “Yeah, sure, make some.” Ugh, whatever, they are hopeless… When I explain the true meaning behind the question , hubby is genuinely surprised, “But you like making donuts!” Yes, I also like expensive jewelry, playing preferance and girls only nights out. I don't see anyone rushing to fulfill those likes of mine...

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This is the time of the year when one hears a lot of griping about organized religion (as far as I am concerned, in 99% of the cases this is just an excuse to avoid going to church or whatever else the religion would obligate the person to do). So I had a bright idea. What if I started a disorganized religion? Or religion for the disorganized? Either option would be fine, if it let me quit my day job and spend more time with kids. I even have a motto, "Mess for the masses." Something to look into...

P.S. As this post was edited, a very nice woman from a different department came over and brought me a package from a vendor that is delicious AND kosher. And left it on my desk since she knows we don't get many of those. How nice is that? And another (male) co-worker brought in a kosher donut, just for me (and other three kosher people on the floor). SubHub, if I were you, I would start getting jealous...and run to the bakery.

P.P.S. He ran, even before he heard that there's a competition. OK, got to get off the computer and start consuming all that nice food.

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Happy Holidays everyone!!!

Sharing is not always caring

Apparently, verbal diarrhea can spread to other parts of the body. Sigh… Today my lunch buddy and I decided to deviate from our routine and ordered Chinese.

Do you know what my fortune cookie said? “Share your happiness with others today.” It might be a bit presumptuous on my part, but I am fairly certain that others want me to keep my “happiness” to myself, especially today.

Kosher lunch in 30 easy steps

I keep kosher and work in Manhattan, so getting lunch presents certain challenges. I do realize that the following post is a confession of a spoiled brat since people in other parts of the country/world/Manhattan have a much harder time finding kosher food or any food at all. But then again, it's my blog and my whining. Whoever wants to remind me about starving children in Africa is free to leave a comment, Mom .

So this is lunch, a-la SubWife, in 30 easy steps.

1. Promise yourself the day before that you will bring lunch from home. It's too expensive and too much trouble to buy.

2. Don't pack lunch the night before and run out of time in the morning. Alternatively, pack lunch and leave it in the fridge. Either option is acceptable since the result is the same.

3. The minute you get into the office, email you lunch buddy, who swore, bli neder, yesterday to finally start bringing lunch from home and find out whether she made good on her promise.

4. Tear up at getting her response. She didn't. Now you don't need to worry about making a minimum for delivery. IF you choose to get it delivered.

5. Start thinking about what it is that you want for lunch around 11. Narrow down your choices: meat or dairy? Make a little list of pros and cons of each, and arrive to conclusion that you want dairy because 1 - meat is too expensive, 2 - food is unimpressive, 3 - your lunch buddy will probably not be in the mood for meat any way, 4 - meat lunch is really, really expensive. Find the list of pros and cons from yesterday and realize that it is exactly the same as today's. And you ALWAYS go with dairy. Promise yourself to never consider meat again.

6. Email your lunch buddy again and casually ask if she gave lunch any thought, knowing perfectly well that she was hard at work on this since 11.

7. Convene at 11.30 for a quick meeting re: what to order for lunch and from where. Be a generous spirit and offer her to make a choice of place. She will try to make you choose, but don't fall for her niceness - it's a trap. For a few minutes try to make each other decide on the place since neither of you wants to be responsible for the disaster that will inevitably come.

8. Once one of you is worn out or tricked into making the decision, choose what you want - salad or something cheesy. Agonize over this decision for another 10-15 minutes, but make up your mind before 12. Whatever unappetizing thing you are getting, you would want to order it before lunch rush or you will get it for dinner.

9. Toy with the idea of actually going out to buy lunch instead of having it delivered.

10. Decide on delivery, just like you did 100 times before. Remind yourself that the added cost of delivery saves you from having to pass by 7 adult DVD stores and 3 strip bars.

11. Finally place an order and feel the weight of decision-making lifted off your shoulders. Take a coffee break because you have exhausted yourself making all these choices.

12. Call the food place back in half hour asking where your order is.

13. Call again in another half hour.

14. Get your order. Carefully examine it. Wonder whether it is your imagination or the salad is actually smaller than the last time. Find beets instead of tomatoes with croutons and grated cheese missing from it. Curse under your breath.

15. Call the place and complain. Graciously accept their apologies and refusal to make you whole or threaten to never do business with them again. Don't worry, no one will take your threat seriously any way; they know that your lunch options are limited.

16. Decide that tomatoes are too important a source of anti-oxidants to forgo and run out in search of a fruit stand. Find that due to bitter cold there are no fruit stands anywhere in sight. Start walking along 8th Ave in hopes of finding a grocery store.

17. Walk three blocks before you find a business, any business, that doesn't sell booze or human flesh, in digital or natural form. Enter the so-called grocery store only to find out that they don't sell tomatoes.

18. Keep walking.

19. Keep walking.

20. In the process of walking ask yourself why you paid extra for delivery since the point of delivery is to avoid walking in the bitter cold.

21. Finally find the store and buy the stupid tomato. Realize that by now you have spent on your lunch more than the average monthly income of an average African family.

22. On the way back to the office consider moving to Africa.

23. Call your significant other and inform that you and him are moving to Africa. Soon. Patiently explain that you are neither drunk nor joking.

24. Learn something new about your genetic makeup from your significant other. Find his findings amateurish and dismiss as a vicious rumor.

25. To preserve peace in the family, decide not to move to Africa. Besides, kosher food is hard to come by there too.

26. Cut the tomato with plastic knife.

27. Eat your salad.

28. Get hungry again in an hour because salad is not very filling.

29. Complain to your lunch buddy about how ridiculous it is to pay so much for bad service and blah food.

30. Swear, bli neder, to bring lunch from home tomorrow.

An Orthodox Woman Found Carrying Cold Weapons on the NY Subway

Today we had the multi-cultural Thanksgiving luncheon at work, which was at the danger of being turkey-less. Turns out our CFO rose to the occasion and paid for the turkey out of his own pocket. Thank you! The overachiever in me made two things, not just one, kabatchki and cranberry pie. And no, I did not bring down the oven while baking the pie, imagine that. There's a story with kabatchki, but it still does not involve any sort of sabotage or destructive activities on my part. You see, the recipe starts out as ratatouille and calls for eggplant and zucchini, among other things. Then it offers variations, one of them a Russian-style stewed veggie dish called kabatchki. The most ironic thing is that zucchini, “kabatchki” in Russian, is the first thing that is eliminated in the modified recipe. So it’s really kabatchki without kabatchki.


(Not our turkey, courtesy of Google Images, but close enough to the real one)


Traditionally we order turkey with some other stuff such as sweet potatoes, etc from Mendy's, so that kosher people like myself will have turkey along with the rest of the population. I somehow became the official turkey cutter of our department, and I am not quite sure how it happened. Because at home SubHub would not let me cut anything that was once alive, saying that killing a poor bird or animal twice is simply inhumane.

Well, I think the first time I became a carver, Mendy's either forgot to carve the turkey or didn't cut it thoroughly enough. Citing my vast experience with plastic cutlery, I volunteered to cut the bird with the plastic knife. I do not recommend. The second year I took it upon myself to bring in the real knife, just in case, and have been doing it ever since. So by default - your knife, you carve - I am the official carver. To my great relief Mendy's have been doing an excellent job, so I am mostly serving.

I am usually profusely thanked for my services and many people are kind enough to ask me whether with all the serving I had a chance to grab some food myself. However, even they probably don't realize the danger, into which I put myself every year, to ensure the semi-proper cutting of the bird. See, I have to take subway to work, and I am always petrified that I will be stopped by a police officer on the day of our luncheon and asked to show the contents of my bag, which would inevitably result in him finding my huge knife. If that ever happened, I most likely wouldn't taste turkey that day or maybe even that year. Once I decided just to keep the knife in my desk drawer and not transport it annually, but then I couldn't decide how I would explain the cold weapon among my work files come spring time, when Thanksgiving is that last thing on people's minds. It did occur to me that this finding might bring unexpected benefits, such as people trying their earnest not to upset me, etc. On the other hand, HR might get involved, and I would rather take my chances with the New York finest. So I took the knife home.

With all the dangers, knives, and carving, the party was a good one, as always. So happy it wasn't fouled up by the economic downfall, etc.



At the end of the day... Again, not really ours, but close enough, courtesy of Google images, for those of you expecting some sort of wreckage in my post...