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Karen Fayeth

Time Marches On

I noted with some sadness today the passing of Bettie Page. She was 85 and passed after suffering a heart attack.

I’ve always been rather fascinated by her, first, of course, for her vibrant beauty and unabashed nature. But there is something else there for me…this might sound horribly vain, but I loved that, like me, she was a brunette.

I grew up in New Mexico where almost all the girls are brunette, and a blond girl was always the “ooh and aaahs” of the school ground. The boys didn’t care about another brunette girl. We were a dime a dozen. But a blond, aaaaooooohhhhga!

So I’ve always loved seeing a hot brunette make it work. After the Marilyn Monroe and Jayne Mansfield media barrage, I *loved* seeing Bettie’s dark locks…and that she took her overt sensuality to new levels. She made people uncomfortable.

And she was just…stunning.

Like the many girls who burst on the scene the way she did, she had a troubled life both before and after her explosive fame. But I don’t want to remember her for the hard times, the mental frailty, the reclusiveness and regret.

I want to remember her as a plain, open, fun kinda gal.

From today’s SFGate article: “…she told Playboy in 1998: ‘I never thought it was shameful. I felt normal. It’s just that it was much better than pounding a typewriter eight hours a day, which gets monotonous.'”

Right!

I know the “behind the scenes” wasn’t always pretty, and the uptight folks hounded her. But to me she is truly an icon. And supportive evidence that brunettes can be just as va-va-voom as our fair-haired counterparts!

I’m posting a fairly well known photo, fully clothed, but brimming with HOOOOOT.

Go easy, now, Bettie. Have fun shaking your money-maker on the other side!

Haaawhoof!

That approximates the exact sound I made at about 10:55 this morning.

I had a “meet and greet” with the boss of my boss, a high ranking and incredibly powerful woman.

I mean, she’s brilliant. Has a degree in chemistry and another in finance. Worked for an oil company in Houston for many years and then made her way west. The continuing upward steps in her career are admirable.

Her background is deep, diverse and amazing.

Let’s just say this: She is a force to be reckoned with.

And as a new employee in her organization, I got the chance to have an hour of her time so she could get to know me and so I could get to know her too.

I was told by my mentor that I should, “come with an agenda, don’t leave open air”. Her time if valuable, to be sure. And so I did. I came to the table with a print out of questions I jotted down and I noticed she took note that I had.

I asked her about her background, her management philosophy and what I can do to be effective here at the company. And she answered very candidly.

I even asked her what is her nitpick so that I can manage to that. She told me two.

That’s some managerial self-awareness!

So it was an intense hour, but good, meaningful and filled with useful information.

When it was over, I came out of her office pitted out (meaning, I needed a Right Guard moment, raise your hands if you’re Sure, etc).

So, for me, the life moments that cause me to get pitted out all get measured on the scale of completing the orals for my Master’s degree.

Wearing a suit, in front of my professor committee, at the marker board, explaining economic theory. Yeah, despite two coats of D.O., I was WAY pitted out that day. That was the worst.

So if we call “Master’s Orals” a 10, today’s moisture was about a three. So low, but still…

I musta been more nervous that I even thought going in.

When all was done, I came out of the boss lady’s office, went up two floors to my office, ripped off my cardigan, and uttered a long drawn out “haaawhoof!”

You know the sound. The one you make when you’ve finished your laborious taxes. The one you make when your shaky team is up by one with three seconds on the clock in a playoff game and they manage to win.

The one you make when you want very much to make a good impression on someone who could literally make or break you and your career.

Haaaaawhoooooof!

Go Speed Racer!

Whoo! Had quite the day at “work”. I put the air quotes around it, because even though I got up at the usual time and drove in to work, I didn’t do any *actual* work today.

It was the occasion of my group’s annual holiday offsite event. This is only my fourth week of employment.

We went to a new and very well managed Go Kart Racing facility. They are set up for corporate “team building” events. I dunno if talking smack and bumping your coworker ’round the curves is building a team, but it was a heck of a lot of fun.

We were broken up into two teams and each team got two goes at the race course. First was “warm up” laps, to learn the course. Then it got serious. I placed in the middle of the pack for times in the warm up laps.

Then we did a “qualifying round,” and from the results would be positioned for the final round.

So, while we waited for the qualifying round, oh did the smack talk begin. The “you’re going down!” comments started flying. And not from me. No, they came AT me. And I smiled. And I put on my pink helmet.

And I kicked everyone’s ass.

That’s right, I won the qualifying round, got the pole position, and never looked back.

Many of my new coworkers were like “wow, you were really…aggressive…out there.” Umm hmm…they wouldn’t have said that to a male driver. I’m just sayin’.

I was proud because another of my coworkers, one who took the MOST grief (they told her she drove like she was taking her kids to school. That ain’t right) came in second right behind me.

Girl Power!

After the racing then we played pool, ate and talked about the team and how we’ll approach next year.

So far, I’m really digging this job. Some of the best folks I’ve ever worked with. I just hope I can step up soon and be a fully functioning member of the group. They’ve been nothing but great to me.

Next up: the entire corporation has a holiday event Saturday. The Good Man gets to go too. It’s gonna be BIG fun!

Oh Geez

The Feline has been named “Pet of the Month” by our vet.

Oh the fame. The demands. The rider clause to be added on to her appearance contract.

“One (1) big clear glass bowl of kibble. All the irregular shapes ones picked out. One (1) bottle Evian. Room temperature.”

She’ll go from merely a pain in the patooty to insufferable.

Diva Feline.

I’ll do a tell all with the tabloids about her addiction to batting at the venetian blinds and that time I found her in a “compromising position” in the laundry basket.

I’ll have to teach her how to get out of a limo correctly, tail down, so we don’t have a little “Britney incident” on our hands.

Upshot is maybe all the media pressure will encourage her to drop those extra lingering four pounds she fights.

Do I need to find a celebrity trainer to take her on?

Ugh.

Hope we get a reality show out of this.