Now, I know that I said this blog was about Denver – and it still is – but, in the words of Mark Furjanic (Dad) I think it’s always a good thing to “remember where you came from.”
So, on that note:
To your first job out of college.
Mine was a purchasing job in downtown Chicago. LET ME TELL YOU: There is nothing like working downtown in The Windy City. REPRESENT! If it’s not 110 degrees with blistering humidity, then it’s 5 degrees with blowing wind and a -12 degree wind chill. Needless to say, those walks across the bridge, to and from the Metra (for the non-Midwesterners – The Metra is a train/a bigger, louder, version of the Light Rail in Denver) were a TREAT. I also got to look at some of the best views in the city on my walk to work, which I did NOT hate.
Actually GETTING my ass to the Glen Ellyn train station every morning, however, was a completely different story. It usually started with loud screams coming from downstairs: “KRISTIN MARIE I SWEAR TO GOD!! IF YOU DON’T GET UP RIGHT NOW YOU ARE GOING TO MISS THAT TRAIN!!!!” – Thank youuuu Mom. That was normally followed by me getting dressed at lightning speed (and for those of you that know me, speed is something I struggle with – so when I say lightning speed, it may not look that fast to you – but it’s safe to say that I’ve broken out in a cold sweat), and doing my hair and make-up in the car while simultaneously, combatting scolds from Jude (otherwise known as Mom).
I would also like to take a second here to commend those women that can actually do their make-up in the car; there’s something to be said about a woman that can draw eyeliner on her eye (without blinding herself) in a moving vehicle and still end up looking like a normal human being. This is a talent that I perfected in high school, but it became more challenging when driving with Danica Patrick (aka my mother).
Upon arrival at the Glen Ellyn train station, I would jog onto the train as it was rolling in, look for a window seat and pass out immediately. It was either that, or I would arrive only to find that the Metra was actually running 40 minutes late. It was those days that I’d bring the ole’ “Late Train Slip” into work (yes people, they actually make those). Also, I’m not kidding when I say that I’ve been woken up on that train by random strangers after the train has already been parked Union Station for 10 minutes – Thank you good citizens.
My office cube had a poster of the Rocky Mountains in it – Coincidence? I think not, because that very same poster is now currently hanging in my closet – In Denver. J My Supervisor at the time – oh yes, the main point of this post – thought it was silly because “MOUNTAINS? WHAT? WHERE’S THE BEACH?” was her train of thought. So this ‘Lady Boss’ of mine was a face-paced, smooth-talking, sexy mama. In other words, she had some majorrrr lady balls.
Remember when you had those big, bright eyes, all young and full of frivolous imaginings? Yeah, that was me too, before I had been exposed to the harsh realities of the real world (sorry, cynical moment). Either way, Lady Boss took me out in Chicago and showed me the ropes. She showed me which clubs to go to, how to get traders in suits to buy us dirty martinis at the Bull & Bear happy hour, and how to eat food slowly at business lunch-ins (a concept that I’ve never quite been able to grasp). Lady Boss took care of her family, worked a full-time job and still had time to look hot while putting dinner on the table (and rage afterwards). Pow.
It was January and her birthday week was right around the corner. I say birthday week, because Lady Boss didn’t just get a day, she got (at least) a week full of birthday celebrating. So, there we were: We had just finished up an amazing dinner at MARKET and were headed to the Underground, a swanky nightclub in downtown Chicago. Eight dirties and an unknown number of shots later, I realized that it was 11:45 pm and I was about to miss the last train home/out to the West suburbs…Oops.
YEP, sure did miss that train (as you could imagine, Jude was LESS than thrilled), and before I knew it I was headed to my Lady Boss’s house – complete with her husband, two daughters and Golden Lab. We lit up the hookah before bed and I squeezed myself into one of her size XS shirts to sleep in. The End.
Cue my eyelids fluttering awake in an unfamiliar basement with the faint smell of berry-flavored shisha. I thought I was dead. Dying. Dead. And then I saw an angel – WRONG AGAIN – it was just my Lady Boss in her robe, sipping coffee. You know, standard Friday morning at the office.
Once again, I was forced to squeeze myself into an XS shirt (and put on the same skirt I wore yesterday) and we headed into work like it was no big deal (after stopping at Starbucks first, I mean, it was an emergency situation here kids).
Did I mention that she was the shit?
So there you have it. First job. First Lady Boss with some big lady balls. In all seriousness, she was great and had taught me a lot about business and recreation; I believe that she helped prep me for the “real world” that I would soon face solo in Denver.
Bust ‘em out ladies.
1. Lady balls: [noun]
When a girl has the “balls” to do something
Damn she’s got some serious lady balls to be doin’ that.
*Definition from www.urbandictionary.com