Long Line of Pain -- Amos Lee

Ladies and Gentlemen:

I would like to take a brief moment to explain to you what is known, in some circles, as “busy season”. Here’s a hint before I get started though – it’s a season and it is very, very busy. Shocking, I know. If you’re an auditor (i.e. the last legal form of indentured servitude) or you have friends who are, you know this term well. Between January and mid-March, your ass belongs to whichever public accounting firm you have been fool enough to sell it to for the tuppence that you have agreed to accept as biweekly pay. You get to work at the butt-crack of dawn and routinely watch the sun rise from your desk. You see the cleaners so often, you now know the names of their children in ascending order of age and the name of their favorite pop group. You work through what used to be your lunch-break and is now just the ten minutes (usually around 3:45pm) during which you run to the bathroom, check your voicemail, check your email and/or catch your breath. You deal with bitchy clients, bitchy managers, bitchy receptionists, co-workers who used to be congenial but who are now just bitchy because they can’t stand busy season either. You get fat because of all the other things that your firm has denied you (life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness), it will provide you with the equivalent of your body weight in food with the highest caloric content possible. Here’s a snapshot into the snack-drawer (more like snack-closet) at my most recent busy season client – KitKat, Cheez-it, Cheetos, Doritos, Lays, Twix, Hershey bar, Ferrero Rocher (we’re classy, y’know!), Twix, Twizzlers, Reese’s Cups, Pringles, cupcakes, fruit snacks -- all in bags weighing about a hundred pounds each. And what happens when you get frustrated, irritated and all-round aggravated? You reach for the snack drawer and pretty soon, your sizeable arse can no longer fit in your pathetic Office Depot swivel chair.

Of course, because of all the snacks you’ve been eating, you begin to break out, so you’re not just fat, you’re pimply and ugly too. This brings with it a wave of self-consciousness and low self-esteem comparable only, perhaps, to your ‘awkward teen years’. Perhaps. Your teeth begin to degenerate because you’ve basically been surviving on pure sugar and where do you think you’re going to find the time to visit a licensed dental professional? Not this busy season! You better pray your teeth hang in there till April.

When you notice the sun setting, you realize the second part of your day is just beginning! Your shoes start coming off under your little desk and you start getting real comfy – maybe you’re even sitting Buddha-style with your firm-issued laptop sitting beside your fifth cup of coffee of the day. The air-conditioner goes off, the client is long gone, the fatigue and the depression sets in because you realize you’ve still got a full day’s work ahead of you and the partner’s just shown up. When you eventually get to leave work, your friends (remember those people? No? I didn’t think so) are practically already in bed. Oh, let’s talk about that – personal relationships. They’re shot. Just forget it. They’re shot because not only do you not really have any time to commit to nurturing these relationships, you’re so burned out from the day that the little time you do find to converse, you’re irritated, wired and snappish. So let’s recap; your formerly fabulous self has become an over-worked, under-paid, burned-out, pissed off, fat, pimply, love-less, friendless, sleep-deprived, caffeine-dependent mess, ticking and tying from here to eternity. Ladies and gentlemen, this is busy season.

My Travelling Star --- James Taylor

A couple of major trips planned for the upcoming year including three weddings, a girlfriends-trip to Vegas, a stop in the NYC among other misadventures in lands far and near. The first wedding (in order of occurrence and not necessarily importance, even though it is pretty huge) is the wedding of my darling Dee’s big sister. Now, weddings are always (well, usually) wonderfully joyous occasions but this one is especially so because I haven’t seen my friend in -- what is it – maybe two and a half years now since she shipped off back to Lagos and decided never to return to me. We’ve been very close for the last nine years almost so when I heard she was States-bound, I had to make myself abundantly available, even if it does mean going to A-town for a weekend.

Second wedding would the nuptials of good childhood friend from waaaay back in the day – we probably all started going to the same church something in the neighbourhood of thirteen years ago, and now the kid done gone and got himself engaged to a chick whom I can only assume from word of mouth is deserving of the wonderfulness that is M. If they’ll have us, a bunch of us are planning on heading north to represent Mama Naija well well (grab your gele and asoebi o!). The wedding is supposed to take place somewhere in New England and Lord knows I’ve literally have been waiting since childhood to see parts of New England in the summer (weekend on the Vineyard, anyone?) so it’ll be fantastic for multiple reasons in the event that it comes to fruition.

Third up is my big sister’s wedding in Leeds. A little bit of a hike, I know, but how many times does one of your best friends get married, ey? (Well, in this case, it’s twice but everyone knows that registrar mess doesn’t count). There’s all kinds of visa things and money things and time-off-work things to figure out but I get to be a bridesmaid and people don’t make that mistake too many times, so I’ll be taking full advantage. Drama is anticipated but this is the case with any gathering of my family (and I’m sure yours too, yes?) so I shan’t complain.

And finally, the trip to Vegas. I am excited to bursting. I booked us into the Tuscany Suites which is, as the name might imply, a hotel made up entirely of suites. It’s a ten minute walk off the strip (a block and a half away from the Belagio) and supposedly safer and quieter than living on the Strip proper. It’ll be Labor Day weekend so everyone’ll be in town (including the four or five of my girls that are heading out there) and I intend to party like it’s, well, 2008.

So that’s it for the roaming about for the year – I’ll fill you in on how many of these trips actually end up taking (given my track record, I figure I’ve done well if I hit 75%). Oh, something interesting I ought to mention while I’m blogging. So I spoke to the Older Guy yesterday and will be having dinner with him and his son next week – YIKES! Definitely more than a little apprehensive about that as I’m much better with grown folk than with people my age – the 20-somethings are so jaded and unflappable! I shall blog about developments as they occur. Good night my loves!

What I’m Listening to Now:
“How’s the World Treating You” – Allison Krauss & James Taylor

(The perfect combination of my favorite male and female vocalist, the song is delivered like a classic country-pop ballad about lost love but with soul. Wouldn’t expect any less than sheer perfection from these two)

Vogue -- Madonna

You ever have one of those days when your couture is just working for you? You know it from the moment you put that ensemble together that you are in the presence of fashion greatness. Those black patent leather peep-toe pumps with the tan trim, the brown leather satchel handbag, that sleek sleeveless black turtleneck, the little tan pencil skirt that hugs in all the right places all fit together like they were born to do it. For once, the hair concedes to your every wish and those dangling earrings embellish the look effortlessly. You walk different – taller, sharper, faster – and everyone can see it. You get hit on by an entirely different caliber of dude while trying to procure your daily bacon, egg and cheese sammich from the local deli; no longer merely the unwashed and unshaven (as is, let’s be honest, your forte), but rather the brokers and traders of the world with business cards and requests to be “shot an email” at your earliest convenience. You strut into work, flirt a little with the security guard in the building (who is of course a bright, good-looking lad working his way through college – or at least, he is in my head!), and arrive every so stylishly and on time with coffee and sandwich in hand at your desk.

From here on, the wonder and magic of the fabulous work of art that is your outfit carries you through the day. Somehow, you even manage to become more intelligent, as if the smartness of your outfit somehow translated into the kind of smarts that help you audit financial statements with more ease and dexterity than you’ve ever managed before. You receive your due props from your colleagues and superiors. You’re just walking on air, aren’t you?

And then you go home, take your fabulous self to bed and then wake up the next morning and the magic is GONE. You sleep through your alarm, your hair falls flat, you can’t find your earrings, you miss your bus, you get your random holla from the crackhead in the street, your breakfast tastes like feet, nothing at work makes sense, your boss starts to wonder why she hired you in the first place. But you don’t mind so terribly because, to be honest, this is more like life as you know it.