Stephanie Lechner: Nametags and Hairnets

Failing career assessments since the 8th grade

Month: June, 2010

Oh Canada

So I have a confession. I know you’re reading this. Ok so I don’t who YOU are, but I know your IP address. It’s kinda sad I know, but I like to see if my blog gets any traffic. And I know that I have a certain faithful reader in Ohio that checks my blog daily and politely reminds me when I’ve been slacking. She has very important Master’s Degree classes and I’m not holding up my promise to distract her from lectures and presentations.
But the joke’s on me. I can see by geographic location from where my blog visits originate, and a few months back I noticed a regular reader from Ontario, Canada. I don’t know anybody in Canada so I was flattered that my little corner of the internet had reached someone up north. As I would write, I’d imagine my Canadian friend and think to myself, “Hey you up there-I’m writing this for you, little buddy!” I can’t remember how I figured this out exactly, but for some reason, the IP address from my blackberry is a little misleading. Much to my dismay, it turned out that my faithful reader in Canada…..was me.


Hot Stuff

“Where do you want it, baby?”
-Keith Richards on a recent photo-shoot for Louis Vuitton

I don’t know what’s more rock and roll: the Louis Vuitton guitar case or the pieces of fancy tea-ware scattered in between the skull scarves.

Keith, you may be the living dead, but you still rock.
So do you, Annie Leibovitz, but that goes without saying.

life in the fast lane

I was having a discussion about opposite sex relations the other day with a male friend, and he said this:
“Women are like cats. Men are like balls of yarn. If you just hand the cat a ball of yarn, they’ll get bored.”
What the what?
I was intrigued. Ronnie’s perspective was blowing my mind, and I wanted to hear more. I always viewed it the other way around. Sadly, he had only reached page 26 of Neil Strauss’s infamous book, The Game, and couldn’t give me much more insight (still not sure if he was kidding about that or not). I’m sure some of you are familiar with that book. It spawned the VH1 show The Pickup Artist starring Mystery, that guy who, despite the fact that he looked like a cartoon version of Tommy Lee (is that eyeliner??? and oh lawd, that ridiculous hat!), he managed to pick up every woman he ever approached in a bar. He used asinine tools like the “neg,” (AKA back-handed compliments) intended to drive women crazy. I remember watching that show and thinking how funny it was to see him attempt to impart his “wisdom” in the ways of women to his socially-awkward minions, but certainly there was no truth to that. Puh-leaze. I, and most of the women I know, are MUCH smarter than to fall for that.

And then it struck me: the race car driver. I used to work at a spa and there was a fitness member who also just happened to be an Indy race car driver. And he was from South Africa, which means he just happened to have a charming accent. Which also means he just happened to be TROUBLE. And he was also a top-notch tool. But I loved it. So rude, but yet so charming. The combination of his looks, his cocky swagger, his ability to drive a car over 200 mph and the fact that he never could remember my name made him increasingly more attractive. And the times that super nice guys have been completely available to me? I’m ashamed to admit, but yeah, I got a little bored. So maybe I’m not smarter than that. Maybe the yarn does need to be dangled a little in front of my face first.

Don’t get the wrong impression, though, I don’t think the tools are long-term contenders. No, I’d like to think a nice guy will finish last. But the first step to fixing a problem is admitting you have one, right?

Long Road to Ruin

You know how most people don’t like to know the end of a book, TV show or a movie until they actually get there? Well I am not one of those people. I seek the spoilers. I like to know who gets kicked off American Idol before I watch it. I wanted to know what the hell happened on that Island! The fact that I already knew Bruce Willis was dead? Did NOT ruin the movie for me. And sometimes, when I’m really curious, I’ll flip to the end of a book and read the last few pages. Yep, I am that crazy. I just think that the ride is more enjoyable when I know the destination. I wish I could say that desire was reserved only for entertainment, but I give myself a lot of unnecessary anxiety constantly wondering what MY spoilers are. I want to know if I’ll snag that job, if I’ll ever be able to pay the mobsters at Sallie Mae, if that guy will ever get a clue, or if I’ll ever win that Oscar. Alright, that last one doesn’t give me much grief–obviously, I’m gonna win that Oscar. But unless Doc Brown shows up with his Delorean sometime soon, I’m probably gonna stay in the dark.
Which probably means that I need to learn to rest in the moment. Being a temp has been the perfect exercise in patience. After losing my job in January, I found “temporary” employment through one of those serendipitous moments that life sometimes brings us–on day one of unemployment no less. I didn’t even get a chance to wallow in sweat pants! But it being a temporary job, I’m never certain how long I’ll be employed. All I know is that I’m working in a much less toxic environment (another story for another day) and for the mean time, I have a paycheck. That has been my attitude since January and what was initially supposed to be a 3 week assignment has turned into a 6 month gig. And for the most part, I’ve kinda enjoyed the live-one-day-at-a-time mantra. But I’ve noticed lately that the little monster, anxiety, starts to creep up on me. I start worrying about how this is gonna play out. I see people cross, no flee, into the land of success, families, houses and Ipads, and I think “Will I ever be both pleasantly and gainfully employed?” Have I completely missed the boat on adulthood? Obviously I’d like to know these answers, but unfortunately I haven’t been able to find my spoilers on the internet.

Wheel In The Sky

“The Wonder Wheel looks like an innocent Ferris wheel, but in fact it’s a stomach-churning instrument of evil.”

Wow, if only I had done my homework before going to Coney Island today–I might have seen the above review and stayed away from what can only be described as the worst torture device invented since that Tomb Raider ride at King’s Island (I swear Kylie and I almost died that day in Cincinnati). The thing that makes the Wonder Wheel, AKA Evil Wheel Of Death, different is that there are a few “swinging” cars that you can ride in. From the ground these look like a slow, breezy enjoyable ride, but from 100 ft, they are the fastest way to an anxiety attack. Once the wheel turned, much to my surprise, the cage we were locked in rapidly hurled down a metal track while I tried to convince myself that I was not starring in Final Destination 4. And what made it worse was knowing that it was all going to happen again in a few short moments. I think my feet went numb.

I guess I should also share that I’ve had a slight phobia of ferris wheels since I was about 12 years old when my mom and I went on this sort of death trap:

The crazy carney thought he was doing us a favor leaving all the kiddos up there an extra 15 minutes, but once the wind blew hard and I saw a random spare tire that seemed to be holding the apparatus together, I freaked. My mom freaked. But I honestly thought my fear had dissipated by now. What sort of self-respecting 26 year old has a fear of Ferris Wheels–the slowest, most benign carnival ride in existence. I guess they call it an irrational fear for a reason.