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like more than a friend.

Posts tagged office[space]


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Sometimes I feel like I’m running on empty, like there’s no cop out, no clock out, no answer besides yes, of course, will do.  No really, no problem!  Just email me, text me, call me, chat me, tap me, ask me, ask me, ask me.
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how’s my job going?
[i need to steal some pens and
draw the line] just fine.


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Back in August, one of my co-workers left the firm to go study medieval history at a prestigious graduate school in England. I was really jealous to see her go, not because I had any interest in medieval history (sorry, I just like fonts better), but because I felt completely trapped and lost and had little to no confidence that I would be able to find my way. If it’s any indication of my headspace at the time, this was our last exchange:
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Me:..I’m not as unhappy as I seem.
Her:..I hope you’re not as unhappy as you seem.
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Oooof.  Anyway, she left this note on my desk after she stayed late to pack up all her things, so I didn’t end up finding it until the next morning. When I read it, I got a huge lump in my throat and my eyes started to well up with tears. I really, really wanted to believe what she had written was true, but at the time I just couldn’t so I took the note and hid it behind some papers pinned to my cubicle. I also did this because I knew it would make me cry every time I saw it and, well, crying at work was just sooo 2009.
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Flash forward 2 months —> I found my way. My last day at the firm is next Tuesday and, being the over-zealous pre-planner that I am, my desk was cleared off and my files were put in basement storage right after my first phone interview. Unfortunately, this means I now only have stupid little things left to take care of (don’t forget that mug! don’t forget those snacks! don’t forget this bamboo plant!), so I’ve been trying to make them last all week. As it happens, yesterday was take down all the things I pinned to my cubicle day and this note, stuck between a menu and a hard copy of the office holiday calendar, made me cry all over again. But this time it was for the good reasons.
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The really, really good reasons.


David Strohl
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I sometimes apply body lotion to my arms and legs in one of the vacant offices on my floor because I don’t feel like walking all the way outside to the ladies room in the hallway (where doing things like applying body lotion would make a hell of a lot more sense).  Really, the only reason I don’t do this all the time is out of fear of having to prove I’m not a total creeper after being caught taking a large bottle of lotion into a vacant office and locking the door.  But I guess I can, uhhh, cross that bridge when I come to it.  Anyway, today happened to be a lazy lotion day and while I mindlessly moisturized behind closed doors, I had the sudden urge to flip the lock and go for a morning jog around the cubicles in my bra and underwear.  But then I remembered today was non-rent payday and I should probably wait to act on the primals until next week.
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Beware: ..When I am my own boss, naked office runs will be part of our benefits package.


Lego Wallpaper. Balakov
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Baby Mamas!  I missed you so much!  Now that we’re all fully rested (just nod and smile) and back at our desks bright and early, I thought you might enjoy jazzing up your workspace desktop background with a little lego-rama drama. Also, rather unrelated, but yesterday I read The New York Times editorial on Labor Day and even though it was pretty much a solid snooze fest, I got a bit of a crush on the closing sentence.  Here, I’ll introduce you:
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“If Labor Day feels like a comma in the year and not a semicolon — like Thanksgiving or Christmas — it’s probably all to the good. We need a holiday that needs no preparation, which is a true holiday indeed.”

The New York Times, Labor Day, Now and Then


Finale at Dolce & Gabbana. JAK & JIL BLOG
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A few days ago, I rode one of the many elevators in my office building down to the first floor to get something from the messenger center.  Usually, I put my brain on pause when I have to stop playing with you guys for a second . . . except . . . this time a random old dude got on halfway down (it was just the two us) and took a shiny money clip out of his pocket. Holy Moly Guacamole!  You would not believe the number of crisp $20 bills he had in there!  It was like a golden money clip of dreams!  Fresh $20 bill dreams!  I wanted to touch them!  All of them!  But he was touching them!  Unfortunately, I made absolutely no effort to suppress the wide open, gaping amystare that had taken over my face.  I think it took me, like, a whole fucking minute to realize the elevator had made it to the ground floor and that I needed to stop gawking at this man’s ..H..U..G..E….W..A..D.. and exit, but not before this special exchange (!) :
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Him:..You can leave now.
Me:….Okay.


Present & Correct.  Black Eiffel
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boss@amysjob:
..i need tabs 151-160 for my binder.
boss@amysjob: ..pls leave them on my desk.
boss@amysjob: ..TYVM

Amy predicts the future and leaves tabs 151-175 on her boss’ desk.
3 hours later her extrasensory paralegal perception is confirmed:

boss@amysjob: ..can you make that up through tab 170 pls?

Amy knows she should really buy a fucking lottery ticket.
She also knows her internet friends need some tabs too:

The Alot is Better Than You at Everything
Christina Hendricks: A Letter to Men
Present & Correct: Geometry Post Its

Holiday Inn. Farmhouse, New England.

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I realized this morning I have officially  spent this entire year out of college.  And instead of heading into the new year with a master plan, an all-consuming life project, or even a boring stock answer to the socially awful yet ever-so-popular inquiry of what I want to do with the rest of my post-college life, I’m full up on a whole bunch of these winners:
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Men and women can never be friends.
Going out of town was just a fancy way of saying, “I’m gonna get some.”
My job sucked sometimes…but not all the time.
No work Mondays made life awesome.
Free stuff made life awesome.
Bartenders made life awesome.
I went to the gym 215 times.
I’m still really good at looking stuff up.
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“Happy Fucking New Years Mother Fuckers.” – CWD

catherine baba
Catherine Baba. Someplace, Fabulous

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Today I found a whole new reason to love the internet and it’s called the nytimes.com video library.  I rarely check the nytimes homepage until well after lunch, but this morning I was in a mix it up kind of mood and after only a few minutes on the site I already knew where and when the next world series game was going down and was happily watching a video feature on how to get hard cash for my family’s gold heirlooms in the diamond district. OOOhhh soo tempting.
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But then I realized the web layout I was navigating was really foreign to me.  I mean, I knew I was on the nytimes website, but there were all these videos!  Tons and tons and tons of videos about soooo many different things.  And this place, this glorious video library place, was all kinds of dark and mysterious and recommending things I actually wanted to watch and learn about!  Like the Urban Eye feature on CMJ!  And that random snow day last year!  And, oh my goodness, what’s this?  Would I like to go backstage at the Marc Jacobs Spring 2010 show?
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No no, I would not like to go.I’d LOVE to go.
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Now, follow me, because I want to introduce you to the FABULOUS Catherine Baba.  She’s a stylist who attended Marc’s show and says things like, “Darling” and “Laa-Di-Daa” and “I feeeeeeeeel DIVINE,” and I would like to be her very much.
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Pleeeeeeased to meeeeeet you, darling.

coffee quitter

Yesterday, I made the potentially dangerous move to not drink any coffee [for a week].
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Am I scared? YES.
Am I crazy? Probably.
Am I tired?  . . . what? No, I’m totally awake.  I was just resting my eyes.
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Right now I’m trying to remember why I decided this was a good idea.  I think it had something to do with leaving work early last Friday because I got soo dizzy and nauseous after downing 3 cups of black coffee on an empty stomach that I couldn’t function.  I know.  I know.  It was a fluke!  It could have been anything!  Don’t blame the coffee!  Seriously though, while I LOVE coffee and this totally goes against my only add things to my diet/routine that make me happy instead of depriving myself of the things I love philosophy, drinking 3-4 cups of strong black coffee every day cannot be the healthiest way to live my life.  So wish me luck.  Or send tea.  Yeah, that’s probably a much better idea.
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Send lots and lots and lots of tea.

I was in the kitchen at work this morning shaking a carton of soy milk before adding it to a bowl of cereal (Trader Joe’s Pomegranate and Blueberry Flakes and Clusters!), but before I knew what was happening the cap had popped off and suddenly I was shaking an open carton of soy milk and totally helpless as it exploded all over the cabinets, the counter, the sink, the floor, my face, and my hair...e..x..p..l..o..d..i..n..g….s..o..y….m..i..l..k….e..v..e..r..y..w..h..e..r..e...

1st thought:
Ewww. (I also said this aloud)

2nd thought:
Thank god no one saw that.

3rd thought:
If cereal is my boyfriend, I think it’s time for “the talk.”  You know, the one about how he should probably give me some sort of warning before he’s about to blow his load all over my law firm’s kitchen cabinets.

Thanks, babe.

The Temper Trap.  A Photoshoot, Somewhere
The Temper Trap. Melbourne, Australia

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If I were my roommate and/or co-workers right now, I’d hate me.  Why?  Mostly because I’ve officially slumped into one of my famous play one song and/or album on repeat for a seriously inappropriate amount of time phases {read:  it could be a week, it could be 9 months, it could be . . . forever}.  To be completely honest and also deflect any sort of blame for this pretty inexcusable behavior, it’s all The Temper Trap’s fault.  Well, them and that scene in (500) days of Summer where the non-diegetic beats of their song “Sweet Disposition” accompany Joseph Gordon-Levitt as he picks himself up by his love-sick bootstraps, erases all the crap on his chalkboard headboard, and works tirelessly to re-vamp his dusty architecture portfolio.  Oh, man.  Swoon!
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{listen:  “Sweet Disposition” by The Temper Trap}
{repeat:  tracks 1, 2, 3, 4, 6, 9, or 10 on their debut album Conditions}

Wow and Woo.  Berwyn, PA
Wow & Woo. Berwyn, PA

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On Wednesday, one of my bosses asked me to be in charge of ordering cheese for an end of the week office party, but what I really heard was:

“Amy, would you mind using your unique paralegal party planning powers of absolute awesomeness and go all out putting together an intelligent yet inviting wine and Artisanal cheese tasting for the entire office that will work (but not over-work), wow (but not over-wow), woo (but not over-woo)?”

Yes & Yes.
Done & Done.
Wowed & Wooed LLP.

tea time
Yogi Tea. New York, NY

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Today my tea bag informed me:
“To be calm is the highest achievement of the self.”
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Seeing as how I’ve already consumed over 2.5 cups of strong black coffee and attempted to consolidate my federal loans online, it doesn’t look like I’m going to get a √+ in enlightenment today. But thanks anyway.

While asking a co-worker about the logistics of owning a car:

Co-Worker:  And then sometimes you have to take it to Lubey Lube.
Me:  Lubey Lube?  Really?
Co-Worker:  Yeah, to get an oil change.
Me:  In Indiana it’s called Jiffy Lube.
Co-Worker:  That’s it!  But Lubey Lube would be a great flavor for your ice cream store.
Me:  Uhhh . . . I don’t think people like to eat lube.

Punition.  New York, NY (via Paris, France)

Punition. New York, NY (via Paris, France)

All last week, my boss (which I guess is a relative term since technically everyone in the office is my boss) was on vacation in Paris with her family.  From the looks of her fabulous post-vacation glow, she had a particularly lovely time, and upon her return this morning she left a delightful surprise on the paralegal/secretarial credenza.  These cookies come from Poilâne, a renowned French bakery whose founder, Pierre Poilâne, firmly believed in doing as much work by hand as possible and felt that a single baker should take responsibility for his/her loaf from start to finish.  A fellow perfectionist, swoon!  Oh, and the Poilâne cookies my boss shared with us are called “Punitions” which is French for –

. . . wait for it . . .

punishment.

Okay, to be fair, the bakery’s website says the name “comes from a little game Pierre Poilâne’s grandmother used to play [where] she would call over her grandchildren seemingly to punish them and, instead, would open her palms to reveal a handful of butter cookies…”  Seriously, though, I think Pierre might be on to something.  Maybe next time I violate an office policy or lose a highly confidential document I’ll get a perfectly wrapped box of Punitions instead of oh, I don’t know, fired.  Hey, it could happen.  [McWorld!]

Today my favorite attorney asked me to relax and go to a bar.  Okay, so maybe there wasn’t a whole lot of liquor involved, but I did take a leisurely trip to The Association of the Bar of the City of New York to retrieve a couple of legal reference books for her.  I was told that the address of the building was 42 West 44th Street, which, for those of you not familiar with New York City, is right in the middle of Midtown Manhattan. {insert rolling eyes and lengthy groaning here} Naturally, I assumed this building would be just like the rest of them; cold, uninviting, uninspiring midtown muddle.  In other words, a complete waste of space.

But.  But.  But.  I was totally wrong.

This building was, in fact, absolutely breathtaking.  Upon entering, I was curiously reminded of the moody mystery created by the classic children’s book From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler and Stanley Clark School, a private elementary school in Indiana and former mansion whose original entry ways and stained glass windows and tiling were all kept carefully intact.  I spent Kindergarten through 8th grade there and I can’t imagine being the person that I am today without having done so.  Man, oh man, do I miss that school.  Anyways, in case you’re interested, here’s a taste of what I found at 42 West 44th Street:
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bar1

bar2

bar3

bar4

bar5

bar6

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I know.  I know!
I think I might be in love. 
{lady swoons}

[almost] super targetajnote

I promised myself I would never do it.  Our attraction and desire for each other was unbelievably strong, but I knew deep down it was only going to end badly, most likely with tears and irreparable emotional scarring.  Clearly, there were tons of warning signs and everyone I spoke with warned me to stay far far away.  But, after a year of endless flirtation and suggestive glances and unanswered late-night booty calls, I couldn’t help myself.  By George, it was time.

. . . to visit the Brooklyn Target.

Well, to be honest, the main reason I finally gave in was because I recently discovered the Sonia Kashuk make-up line for Target through a NY Magazine advertisement and my co-worker Andrea and I were more than a little interested.  Okay.  So maaaybe there was a slightly inappropriate number of girlish squeals and giggles and tantrums and  “oooooo nooooo”s echoing from our cubicles.  Maaybe.  Well, anyway, Andrea was in desperate need of a make-up brush bag and Sonia just so happens to make an adorable one for a totally affordable price.  And so before I knew it, I was hopping on the downtown Q after work on Wednesday to break my year-long “Targets That Are Definitely NOT Super” celibacy.

And you know what?

There wasn’t any emotional scarring.
It didn’t even end in tears.
In fact, I’m totally fine.
Really.  Really!

So maybe the shelves weren’t very color-coded or clean or overflowing with that oh-so-amazing Targety goodness that makes me wanna do the Risky Business No Pants Dance down the aisles the way my gargantuan SUPER Target in Indiana does, but the Brooklyn Target did happen to have one of Sonia’s make-up brush bags left!  Yessss.  I then discovered rather quickly that this was the kind of Target that wouldn’t mind taking me out for a casual dinner if I came without a clear shopping list and might even offer to pay if I arrived solo right after work on a rainy Wednesday.  But if I tried to look for something specific in a quantity larger than none-1 on a sunny Saturday afternoon with a slowly creeping headache, this Target would probably just graze my boob “accidentally,” ask for my underwear, and then leave me with the bill itching for [no] more.

Oh.   No.   He.   Didn’t.

Well, with me he didn’t.  So yay!
All in all, I was pleasantly surprised.
Thanks for dinner, Brooklyn Target.

{awkward hugging}

ummm.  I’ll call you!

patrico cooks!
Hand-rolled pasta. New York, NY

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Last night my roommate Patrick made an entire Italian feast from scratch for his girlfriend’s birthday.  There was hand-rolled pasta, herby meatballs, zuchinni fritters, cinnamon whipped cream beaten to soft peaks, prosecco, and a sink overflowing with a hellish amount of hard work.  Needless to say, it looked delicious.  romantic.  perfecto.  He also bought her a Pomeranian-shaped microwaveable heating pak off the internet from a woman in Pittsburgh named Belinda who claims that God brings her creations to life.  Wow, really?  Really.  Did I mention she also sells animal-shaped cold paks called Hot Flash Huggies?  Too sexy, b-linds.  Too sexy.  Oh, and since our apartment building’s mailboxes are superbly shady, Patrick had his HotPak Huggie shipped to my office which then prompted the appearance of this FANTASTIC email in my inbox:

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hey amy, hope your day is going well.  could you please let me know if you have or have not received my microwaveable pug pup yet?  if not, i want to call the lady to see what’s up.  thanks!
patrick

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Sorry, Patrick, but sometimes God just works in mysterious ways.

Last week, as I tried to cure my “oh my god I’m having the slowest work week ever”-itis by attempting to read the entire internet, I [thankfully] stumbled upon a section of Craigslist NYC I had never noticed before.  While I thoroughly enjoy discovering where I can find a women’s beach cruiser with at least 5 gears for under $100 or what the rapidly declining rent of a 2 bedroom on the LES is or if the too cool for school Trader Joe’s employee has finally decided to take our flirty any number of items checkout banter to the next level, I never considered using the Gigs section to truck through my on-again off-again bout of  “omgihtswwe”-itis.

As it turns out, Gigs are usually one-time/part-time, under the table, tax free job postings that range from late-night dog walking to Thai language tutoring to 3D photorealistic artistry to podcast modeling [just to name a few].  Making my way through this whole new world of on the side, on the fly, money making opportunities and imagining the awesomeness of walking some kept woman’s giant Burmese Mountain Dog during my lunch break so she can attend a Kundalini yoga class, I stumbled upon this:

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Rooftop Space needed for Photoshoot (Manhattan)

I am looking to do a photoshoot on a rooftop in Manhattan (or on the Queens/Brooklyn side if it is right by the water). Date is btwn May 28-31 (tbd). Duration: 4-5 hours. Please respond with rate. Thanks!

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It is really scary how close I came to responding to this post.  Not only is the roof of my Hell’s Kitchen apartment building currently accessible due to some temporary hallway construction, but I’ve also been completely in love with it ever since the 4th of July roof party we had the summer I moved here was perfectly punctuated with incredibly unique and stunning views of the city.  Clearly, the creator of this post was speaking only to me.  Everyone else go away.  Seriously, dudes.  Scram!

But.  But.  But.  [there’s always a but]

I don’t really own the building I live in and we’re not technically allowed to be on the roof so I started to realized it would be extremely unwise for me to respond to this post as all parties involved would definitely end up with various disappointments [like fines/eviction notices].  Then my inner middle schooler monologue kicked in and said, “umm, Amy, how about we not and say we did?” Ugh.  Whatever.  You know, you’re a real baby.  Why don’t you go read the latest Goosebumps or something?  Yeah, you heard me!  I’m gonna go download some free fonts now.  Shut up!  This is you in the future!  Moving on…

By the end of the week, Craigslist Gigs had eased my “omgihtswwe”-itis smoothly into the weekend and suddenly it was Saturday and my roommate Patrick and I were ushering in a slow start to summer by sunbathing on [you guessed it] the roof.  I told him all about the post I had found and he completely agreed how outrageously awesome this space would be for a photoshoot.  At that moment we both got these really ridiculous/mischievous grins on our faces and before I knew it my Canon Powershot SD600 had been busted out and was going from 0 to 60 on an impromptu amateur photoshoot.  Here’s a little taste of what went down:
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i'm on the roof.

patrick's on the roof.

i'm on the roof again.

patrick's on the roof again.

yup, still here.

Craigslist Gigs ain’t got nothing on us.
Foolios.

Zing!

I worked on my birthday and I liked it.  New York, NY.
I worked on my birthday and I liked it. New York, NY

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I turned 23 today.  Usually when people inquire “How old are you?” these people are always many years older than me and inevitably roll their eyes or even laugh out loud when I cheerfully reply “I’m 22!”  Over the past year I’ve come to discover that beyond the soothing womb of college, there’s something totally young and naive and inferior about being 22.  No one wants to take you seriously because all they hear is “I’m 22 and I’m really inexperienced and I have NO IDEA what the hell I’m talking about because, let’s face it, I’m a total baby!”  Naturally, my first instinct is to avoid this question at all costs.

But…

Now I get to say that I’m 23 and that’s completely different!  That’s a whole 12 months of post-college experience right there!  I file my own taxes.  I sign apartment leases without a guarantors.  I make dinner without using a microwave.

I.  AM.  AWESOME.

Speaking of awesome, I cannot end today’s post without expressing how completely obsessed I am with the fine folks at my office who went out of their way to help me celebrate my birthday.   Starting from top left and moving clockwise, a HUGE thank you goes out to Ellen, Alison, Andrea, Jenny, and Julian.  You and Mohammed Ali are the GREATEST.

blue smoke.  New York, NY.
Blue Smoke. New York, NY.

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Before I even got into the office day, this email was just hanging out in my inbox:

To: The Entire Office
Subject: Lunch Today

We are ordering from Blue Smoke to have a belated celebration for administrative professional day. Food should be here at around noon. Yum.

In case you are unaware, Blue Smoke is one of the top 5 BBQ joints in New York City and just so happens to be directly across the street from my office.  It’s beautiful.  It’s delicious.  It’s messy.  And for some reason the partners LOVE ordering it to-go when times are tough and the office energy starts to gain a few too many lbs on the craaazay scale.  Oh!  I also made a totally gigantic (and fabulous) binder today.  Let’s just say it’s been a pretty fantastico Friday.

The Secretaries.  My Job, NY.
The Secretaries. My Job, NY.

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Yesterday was Secretaries’ Day and EARTH Day.  Clearly, fantastic secretaries (especially these lovely ladies) make the world go round.   Since it became painfully obvious throughout the day that the office was a total ghost town, I decided to take matters into my own hands.  On the fly, I used my lunch break to organize a celebration for this momentous occasion awesome-style with fruit, chocolate, sparkling pink lemonade, and Aretha Franklin’s R. E. S. P. E. C. T.

ooo What you want?  (copies?)
ooo Baby, I got (your copies)
ooo What you need (more copies?)
ooo Do you know I got it (your copies)
ooo All I’m askin’ (oh, sorry, I didn’t realize you were on the phone)

Is for a little respect when you come home… just a little bit

there’s no place like the 25th floor…

there’s no place like the 25th floor…

there’s no place like the 25th floor…

Through
Through the Looking Glass [Conference Room]. New York, NY

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The view from my cubicle makes me swoon.

daily.

weekly.

9 to 5-ly.

seriously.