girls girls girls

Though I'm typically too engrossed in my extensive blog research and analysis to pay attention to real people around here, I should mention that I am not the only youngish lady in this big testosterone cesspool of an office. In fact, there are four of us brave enough to dodge the flying footballs, resist the lunchtime steak and pizza pigouts, and not find sexist jokes and stripper talk offensive enough to sue anyone. Who are these fabulous gals? Well, I'll tell you.

*Me first!: Aversion to bullshit is almost as severe as my aversion to cilantro. Unlike the latter, this aversion cannot be tempered by gradually increasing my intake of Burritoville salsa until I can almost tolerate it. This means I will never be a good go-getting team-player. Also, even though I spend most of my income on overpriced clothing, I cannot bring myself to buy anything business casual and, therefore, wear the same five outfits every week. Can also not bring myself to shower in the morning and always wear my hair curly (gasp!) and in a ponytail.

*Really cool girl who I would be friends with if I were less shy and/or not too lazy to walk to the other side of the office: Has been here for three years, totally knows her shit, and is nice and friendly in an un-bullshitty way. Wears fairly funky, colorful outfits and once told me she really just wants to work with kids.

*Princeton girl: Is a size -2 yet somehow manages to have large, perfectly shaped boobs. Has perfect, frizz-free blonde hair and a perfect, exclusively Theory wardrobe. Flirts with trader dudes like it's her job (errr...) and eats coffee for breakfast and Diet Dr. Pepper for lunch.

*New girl: Graduated my year from Schmarvard, starred in a Broadway show when my biggest life accomplishment was getting a silver medal at the regional spelling bee, and is absurdly nice to everyone. Wears boring business suits every day even though it is completely unnecessary, reads a giant book that says "Bonds" on it when she should be reading blogs, and never lets the gumball machine run out of Peanut M&M's. Maybe it's just Fatboss' low-carb lunch, but I think I smell an overachiever.

Guess which one gets to go on all the fancypants limousined client dinner extravaganzas. Hint: it sure ain't the new girl.

Disclaimer: I know how lucky I am to have this job (oh so extremely lucky, seriously), and it's not really terrible. If it were an estrogen-filled cesspool instead of a testosterone-filled cesspool, I think I would have been committed to Bellevue after about a week. Nevertheless, I will still make fun of it at every opportunity and pray to the Holy Father that no one here ever reads this.