Sunday, October 31, 2004

Happy Halloween!! Posted by Hello

Saturday, October 30, 2004

How Much Does This NOT Surprise Me? :)

You're a Dark Angel...and hey, you probably knew it.
Dark Angels are, in truth, very malicious but a
sign of one also is very sad. Dark Angels all
used to be pure angels, but something went very
wrong with their lives. Either it was the
sudden murder of a loved one, betrayal, or pure
torture to them, Dark Angels have committed
their lives to Satan himself. They are silent,
and their wings are dark black feathers, or
blood red. Dark Angels appear when there is
someone dying, or a murder. If you see one, it
means the death of a loved one is expected.
Dark Angels cannot actually harm a human, but
they love to see the suffering of one.

What Kind of ANGEL are you? (For Girls only) This Quiz has amazingly Beautiful Pictures!
brought to you by Quizilla

Friday, October 29, 2004


Cheese has been the final frontier in terms of finding a gluten-free/ casein-free substitute for everything I've had to give up eating. I've gone through countless searches, in stores and on the net, to find an acceptable CF cheese substitute: a vegan cheese that does not taste like chalk, an eraser, have the consistency of rubber and refuses to melt, or have a funk to it in general. I even tried to make my own cheese, using nutritional yeast flakes- the result of which could patch the holes in my driveway.

I've eaten several subtances that the FDA should have never allowed to be labeled "cheese." Yes, SoyMage, I'm talking to you.

I have finally, thank the gods, found the Holy Grail: a good vegan cheese.

I never thought I would be so happy as a result of a tofu-based substance.
I would make a joyful noise, but my mouth is still full of the stuff.

In the end, after visiting or calling every alterna-food store in town, and even calling the distributor to see if they sold it anywhere in Dallas, I broke down and ordered it online. One would think, living in a big city and all, that this would have been easier. Alas, Texans like their cow products, and Dallas isn't quite on the vegan bandwagon. Of course, neither am I. I like my steak just as much as the next person.

While searching, I tired very quickly of the vegan propaganda that was part and parcel of searching for cheese not made with animals' milk, and not containing casein. I just wanted to eat something that wouldn't make me ill, not be preached at.

Anyway. Back for another mouthful!!

Christmas in October?

It seems that, every year, people keep trying to make Christmas happen earlier and earlier. Last weekend, I was in Houston, and I saw not only a lit and decorated tree in a window, but an entire shopping center decked out in Christmas decorations as well.

This inspired a song, as injustices seem to do with me. ManThing co-wrote.

O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree,
It's too soon for you to be here.
O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree,
I want to shove you up your owner's rear.
Not barely in,
But all the way.
Maybe then he'll wait 'til Turkey Day.
O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree,
It's too soon for you to beeee heeeeere....

Thursday, October 28, 2004

Somebody Needs To Stop Me

I’m sitting here wanting to quit so bad I can taste it in the back of my throat. Okay, maybe that’s just post-nasal drip from this nasty sinus thing I have. Sorry for the visual. Compounding the problem is the fact that I took some pseudoephedrine (oh, calm down, it’s sinus meds), and that always makes me feel twitchy and really agitated.

I’m fighting the urge to up and quit, just like when I’m sick and I know I’m going to throw up, but I will fight it.

Yeah. It’s that bad.

ManThing gave me “permission” to cash in my IRA and live off that for a while, but I can’t bring myself to do it, no matter how much I hate this place. He felt the need to give me “permission” because he knew I wouldn’t give it to myself. One would think this would have a calming effect on me; just knowing I had an "out" would give me the ability to hang on until one of the jobs I've been pursuing drops. Quite the opposite. I just have the overwhelming urge to do it now, do it now, do it now!!

I’ve never just quit a place before, not even Wal-Mart. I gave them four weeks notice, for crap’s sake! I almost feel like I need to just do this, just once in my life.

It makes no financial sense to do it; in fact, it’s the dumbest thing I could possibly do right now. But I want it. I’m willing to give up the deposit I've saved for a MINI Cooper to do this. Hell, I'm willing to give up meals to do this.

But I'm a chickenshit, so I won't. A compromise, perhaps. I'll wait until I get another job, and then I'll tell them to piss off with no notice. A monkey can dream. :)

Work = Prison

A co-worker sent this to me yesterday.

IN PRISON - you spend the majority of your time in an 8 x 10 cell.
AT WORK - you spend the majority of your time in a 6 x 8 cubicle.

IN PRISON - you get three meals a day.
AT WORK - you only get a break for one meal and you pay for it.

IN PRISON - you get time off for good behavior.
AT WORK - you get more work for good behavior.

IN PRISON - the guard locks and unlocks all the doors for you.
AT WORK - you must carry around a security card and open all the doors yourself.

IN PRISON - you can watch TV and play games.
AT WORK - you get fired for watching TV and playing games.

IN PRISON - you get your own toilet.
AT WORK - you have to share with some idiot who pees on the seat.

IN PRISON - they allow your family and friends to visit.
AT WORK - you can't even speak to your family.

IN PRISON - the taxpayers pay all expenses with no work required.
AT WORK - you get to pay all the expenses to go to work, and then they deduct Taxes from your salary to pay for prisoners.

IN PRISON - you spend most of your life inside bars wanting to get out.
AT WORK - you spend most of your time wanting to get out and go inside bars.

IN PRISON - you must deal with sadistic wardens and guards.
AT WORK - they are called managers and brown-nosers.

A few of my own…

IN PRISON - No degree required
AT WORK - you spend several years and lots of money to get a degree before you can even get an entry-level position

IN PRISON - you get an exercise period scheduled into each day
AT WORK - you have to find time to exercise on your own time, at your own expense, in addition to the other things in your schedule

IN PRISON - you are issued a comfy jumpsuit, and it is washed for you
AT WORK - you have to purchase your own clothing, it’s usually expensive and uncomfortable (read: suit), and you have to wash/ dry clean it yourself

One from Victor…

IN PRISON – you are provided healthcare at the taxpayers’ expense
AT WORK – you have to pay for your own healthcare insurance or take the company’s crap program (if one is even offered)

Anybody got anything to add?

Tuesday, October 26, 2004

Do I LOOK Like A Reprographics House?

(e-mail) Lori: So sleepy. Don’t want to work anymore.

(e-mail) CAD Monkey: If sleepy = not wanting to work, then I've been unconscious for months.


My current location, in front of the kitchen, and in the line of travel towards the conference room, has awarded me a new status- Print Monkey. BossManF just walked past on his way to the conference room, realized he had no drawings for the meeting he was going to, and stopped at my desk. He told me, in “drop what you’re doing” tone, to print “the latest site plan for the X job on 8 ½” x 11”, with dimensions, blah di blah, and I need 8 copies.”

Sigh. Yes, Master.

A few weeks ago, the same thing happened- except it was 5:30 and I was about to leave. Does his machine not have print capability?


Hah! He just did it to one of the other "hallway dwellers!" I am vindicated!!

Monday, October 25, 2004

And I STILL Don't have enough CEUs!!

I went to the TSA convention in Houston this weekend. These types of events inspire both hope and depression within me. The hope comes from attending the seminars; and seeing, once again, the aspects that attracted me to architecture in the first place. However, that inspirational feeling never sustains me for very long, and the depression takes hold. The depression comes from realizing I will have to wait an unknown amount of time (or never) before I can do similar work, and that I have to go back to the hole on Monday. Seeing the other side of the profession; and being around people who enjoy what they’re doing; makes me want to quit even more. Even though I am actively pursuing other jobs and options, these things are never instantaneous.

In my head are several “exit fantasies,” formulated both from talking with my friends, and from my own devising. My fear is, that since this is such an incestuous industry, the tale of my huffy walk-out would spread, thus tainting my future with anyone who knew my former employer.
I would love to go out in a blaze of glory; yelling an emphatic “fuck you!” and walking out the door with a finger in the air. (That one I credit to Liz)
Or, I could just pack up my crap and leave a diplomatic “screw-you” note on BossMan’s chair. (That would be Lori)
Perhaps I could make my exit after narrowly escaping arrest for attempted assault. I can see myself scrambling out of my chair and leaping over the conference table; sneering and snarling as I reach for BossManJ’s throat. Ah, the savage beauty of the wild.

While I was in Houston, I stayed with Lori and Jeromy- always fun. On Friday night, one of Jeromy’s friends and Wife came over for dinner. Friend and Wife have a kid, as do Lori and Jeromy. The difference is, Lori doesn’t talk about her kid all the frelling time. No matter how the conversation may have started, Wife managed to turn the conversation back to the nourishing of her child from her mammary glands. Blech.

We watched Team America Saturday night (fuck, yeah!). I'm going to watch it with ManThing tonight, because I can't keep the catchphrases to myself anymore....

Friday, October 22, 2004


I knew I shouldn't have had the thought.

The working conditions can't get too much worse than they are now.

I was wrong. Today they took away our lights. Literally; the workmen came in and removed the overhead lights. With the cold from the AC and the darkness, the illusion is complete- I'm working in a cell!

Thursday, October 21, 2004

The Thing I Didn't Want To Hear

I walked in this morning to get hit in the face with the lovely aroma of...cigarette smoke! That's right, BossManJ finds it completely acceptable to smoke in the office. So, now the job is not only annoying, but hazardous to my health as well. Peachy.

Why haven’t they called yet? Tomorrow will be a week since the interview; the very same interview I got such warm, fuzzy feelings from.

Do they not realize I am a twitchy, neurotic mess? Can they not feel, through the psychic pipeline, that I am waiting- edgily- for them to call and throw me the metaphorical life preserver of a decent employ? Do I really want them to figure this out- no! I just want my damn phone call- the good kind, not the “well, we’ve gone with someone else” kind.

Desperation tickles my brain with its evil little fingers, trying to convince me to do what I shouldn’t.
I shouldn’t call them.
I shouldn’t e-mail the one person working there that I know and ask for his good word.
I shouldn’t just tell this place to stick it, and throw myself to the winds of unemployment.
I shouldn’t call my former boss and ask if there’s any contract work I can do.
I really, really, really shouldn’t go eat a big hunk of cheese just to ride the opiate wave.

I have to be cool on the outside, and continue along like nothing is wrong- when everything here is SO wrong. I’m even having trouble trying to lose myself in the work, because I lack direction. I don’t know how this place puts together a set of construction documents- they offer no training, and there is no standard that I can see. After opening three different project sets to get a go-by, I have three different methods.


GFF just called, and gave me the same old story about not enough experience, wrong project type experience, blah, blah, blahbitty, blah.

I wish I had never seen this picture and had it affect me the way it did in my first architectural history class.

I wish I had never read this book.

I wish I had been a little more patient with my last job, because this one is so much worse, and apparently I’m going to rot here.

Tuesday, October 19, 2004


I will now mangle two languages at once; by saying that I have found my company’s raison d’etre…to achieve… schadenfreude!

When I came in this morning, the new desk layout for our office expansion had been placed on my chair. I will be sitting right outside BossManF’s cube. While I could look on the bright side, and think this might be because he’s going to turn me into his right hand- uh- man, my not-so-inner pessimist says I’m now going to be watched all the time.

The desk shackles are scheduled for installation next week, sometime after the carpet arrives.

In keeping with the isolationist environment I’ve experienced since my first day here, I’ve also been moved nearly to the farthest point of the office, effectively cut off from everybody (the whole three people) I have made friends with to this point.

This is some sort of Candid Camera thing, right? Leave me a crappy surprise each morning this week? I can’t wait to see what I get tomorrow.

GFF needs to call me already!

Monday, October 18, 2004

Small Snippet

I was having some trouble with an e-mail I was trying to send out today, and managed to send out one incomplete version and then several versions explaining the mistake.

While I already felt like I needed to commute on the short bus, BossManJ comes up and asks about what was going on with all those e-mails he kept getting from me. I explained I was having trouble with the e-mail, and there is no “recall” function on our stupid server, so several copies got sent out.

He walks off mumbling something about “we don’t need to send out a bunch of worthless e-mails.”

Noooo…really, asshole? My silly, dumb, girl-brain wouldn’t have figured that out if you hadn’t told me. Grrrr.

Also, to improve the quality of my workstation that much more, someone threw a poopy diaper into the trash can at my desk sometime over the weekend.

I don't even want to know where the actual changing took place.

And the really sad thing is, I sit less than 10 feet from the bathroom....

CAD Monkey, Queen Of RCP

The following is an attempt to redeem myself after the last lametastic entry. It is also an attempt to make reflected ceiling plans seem interesting through the power of medieval imagery; because, I assure you, they are anything but interesting.

All behold CAD Monkey, Queen Of RCP.

Mine is a mantle I hoped I’d never wear again; alas, it is my destiny. I am The Chosen One.

In my left hand, I wield a scepter engraved “SNAPBASE.” Upon my head rests a crown, covering my ears and feeding mystical chantings to my brain, to counteract the mind-numbingness of my task.

My subjects are the nameless masses that will someday bask beneath the ceilings of my design. It is for them that I leave the safety of my castle each morning, to navigate the gauntlet of walls, door headers, and furr-downs. I alone have the power to decide who will be bathed in soft incandescent, and who must suffer the heartbreak of fluorescent lighting.

With the aid of my trusty steed, and with Symmetry as my shield, I make passing strikes with 2x2 grids and gypsum board ceilings. I maintain a tenuous balance, keeping grids centered, and ceiling heights at 9’-0” AFF. Strapped to my side is my flask of magical elixir to maintain my strength and vigilance.

Okay, I tried. There really is no way to make RCPs glamorous. Really.

Sunday, October 17, 2004

And Now We Wait

I interviewed with GFF Friday. It went as well as I could have hoped for. Their offices are pretty and shiny and I so want to work there.

It's going to be hard to wait for the phone for however long it will take for them to get back to me. Concentration hasn't been a strong point for me at work lately as it is. Small bits of work interspersed with looking at my phone and thinking "O please o please o please call me and get me out of this hellhole already." I had to try very hard not to convey that attitude during the interview. I think I pulled it off.

My head hasn't been into the writing thing lately. I've been going through a tough spell of stress, anger at the diet, and tons of allergy fun.


Hope it will pass soon.

Thursday, October 14, 2004

I want to keeeeeelll yoooooouuuuu!!!!

When I told people at my last job that I was coming to work here, one of the guys told me “Oh, you’ll be working with BossManJ. He’s a great guy! You’ll learn a lot from him!”

Yes, I certainly could learn a lot from him, if I wanted to become a condescending, chauvinistic, hypocritical old bastard.

Several times, he has started a meeting by saying he “has no healthcare planning experience, nor wants any,” and is going to defer judgment on such matters to me. He will then contradict me, in front of the client, on matters dealing with the healthcare planning of the project. This accomplishes two things: it undermines my credibility, and he ends up making planning promises I can’t keep.

Yesterday, we were in a meeting (with a client he has already trashed me in front of), and an ambulance pulls up in front of the building. I briefly look out the window at it, then bring myself back to the meeting. I say something to C about needing to find out whether the facility plans to use bariatric patient beds, because they will not fit into the patient rooms. BossManJ tells me- in his favorite way, in front of a room full of people- that I “need to focus on this meeting.” The fuck?!?

Not five minutes later, a guy and his siliconed girlfriend walk past, and he looks out the window and says, “Good-ness!” Yes. Focus on the meeting. Bite me.

And today.

Developer Chick [she used to work here, then decided to go play for the Dark Side] gets herself into a twist, thinking I had gone ahead on a plan change without notifying her. [She got the e-mail just like everyone else.] She calls BossManJ, with whom she is BFF, and I get called into his office for the Ass-Chewin’.

“DC is really upset about this. Everything has to go through DC; everything needs her approval. You need to call her and ‘make nice.’ She needs attention, you know, she’s a woman.”

This is exactly the sort of thing that has been making me listen to Kittie again lately. Lots of it.

Side note: This seems to be a common affliction of architecture males when they are around me. Somehow they “forget” that I, too, am female, and they say crap like this all the time! Wake up and smell the absence of Y chromosome!!

DC is also pregnant right now. I wonder how long it’s going to take before BossManJ starts asking when I’m going to pop one out. That seems like the kind of question he would ask.

I need to get that punching bag hung. Soon.

Monday, October 11, 2004

CAD Monkey Hangs Her Head In Shame

To The Future Administrative Staff of [current project] Hospital:

You may find yourself, sitting in your crappy little cubicle, wondering who the dumbass was that designed your workspace.

It was I, CAD Monkey, and I’m very sorry.

As always, I tried to make your space a good space. I reeeeeally tried. On at least three separate attempts, I moved and rotated and stretched and prodded and poked and pleaded with the cubicle plan; the Tetris theme song constantly running through my head- but to no avail. I couldn’t do it. Though I like to think of myself as a good enough designer to do a job well, regardless of the obstacles, there were too many factors working against me.

Cowardly as it may sound, I place the blame on the owner of your building.

I blame the owner for insisting on a bare-minimum, tight-ass plan with no room for adjustments.

I blame the owner for telling me, “This type of building can be done in 35,000 square feet. We’ve done it before (yet owner offers no plans to prove this).”

[Really? When I programmed it to a functional size, I got 42,000 square feet; but, hey, what do I know?]

I blame the owner for severely restricting the square footage of the building, to the point where the structural plan necessitates putting a column right in the frippin’ middle of your department.
Mostly, I blame the owner for wanting a certain number of desks in your department, then wanting to lessen the square footage of the department, and then wanting to put more than the original number of desks in.

I deeply empathize with your workspace situation. Currently, I am working at a folding table in front of the office kitchen, with a painfully clear view of the office bathroom, and with no natural light anywhere to be found. The principals sit upstairs on a mezzanine, with windows, a great view, and the ability to lord over all of the office monkeys.

Believe me, this was not an attempt to “screw the staff”- I even tried to stick it to your CEO, and take away his windowed office!

Please accept my apologies,

CAD Monkey
Fellow beleaguered staff member

Thursday, October 07, 2004

The Junkie Blues

“Hi, my name is CAD Monkey, and I’m a Stress Addict.”

I know how bad stress is for you, yet I consistently seek it out and practically swim in it on a regular basis.

Right now, for example, I am looking for a new job. This means I am sending out resumes, anxiously waiting for e-mails, and looking for new job postings.

I am also talking to my last firm about staging a comeback. This process includes kissing the ass of the senior designer (who is a scary man to talk to when you’re not pseudo-begging for a favor), reassuring my former boss that I really am worth the pay I’m asking, and conferring with former colleagues to see how best to approach the former two items. Due to going through this process, and the bullshit it requires, I worry that I could be making a big mistake (again) by going back.

My Dream Firm actually called on me for an interview, so now I have the added fun of pulling a worthy portfolio out of my ass between now and the interview; because my current one is crap on a platter.

I am also in the process of changing my last name to Mrs. ManThing, which only adds another layer of stress to all of the above activities. Which name to use? How do I change my name with the Architectural Licensing Powers That Be, so propective employers don't think I'm scamming off someone else's license number? How soon before I actually learn to sign my name correctly?

My stupid skin is acting up again. The hair? Don't want to talk about it. I was planning on getting my tongue re-pierced tomorrow, but with an interview coming up in a week, I don't want anything to augment my Slobbering Idiot Syndrome.

I have to make several phone calls that really shouldn’t be overheard by my current employers; and I’m supposed to be working, so it’s difficult to keep running outside to use the phone. Not to mention that my head isn’t really here at the moment, and if I have to hear either BossManJ or BossManF say “sex it up” one more time, I may hurl (they’re discussing a project, but still, ew).

Should you think this is only because I’m looking for a job, you should know I do this to myself quite often.

Tuesday, October 05, 2004


I have joked many times recently about quitting my job and working at Starbucks. After this morning, I don’t think I have the skillset necessary for it.

I was going to be nice and make cappuccino for ManThing and myself, so I grind the beans and fill the filter…way too full. After priming the pump, I try to put the filter in the machine, but it won’t go in. My utterances of profanity wake ManThing, and he comes in to help me, because I am deficient. He gets the filter in, and goes back to bed. I flip the switch, and coffee starts spurting out all sides of the filter, because...too full. Again, ManThing is awakened by the lovely sounds of blue language, and stumbles back into the kitchen. At this point, he’s basically making the coffee for himself. Oops.

I manage to froth the milk, and pour it into the cups without incident.

When I go to take the filter out of the machine, espresso grinds explode everywhere.


ManThing doesn’t bother to come in the kitchen this time.

Monday, October 04, 2004

A Poll....Because I'm Lazy

This morning is absolutely dreary. It is rainy and dark, and I’d much rather have stayed in my warm, soft bed with my warm, snuggly husband. My cold, while better, is not completely gone. Combine these facts with the obvious truth that I hate my job, and ask how much did I not want to get out of bed this morning?? Laziness is riding me like a blanket, and I can’t promise anything witty for today’s entry.

So I pose, to any readers out there, this Monday morning question:

What made you get into architecture, and do you still like doing it?

Sunday, October 03, 2004

Jerry Springer LIVE!!

I went to the Social Security Administration office to begin the process of changing my name to Mrs. ManThing. It looked, at first, like any other Government agency: depressing lighting, long-abused furniture, a melange of social groups, fiberglass panelboard on the walls. I stood in line, awaiting my turn at the next available window. Having brought a book, I attempted to read, until a conversation began to waft my direction.

I didn't want to listen. I really didn't want to listen- but the volume level made it damn near impossible not to.

"Laraine, it's just like that time you said you got that black eye from playing basketball."

"I did get that black eye from playing basketball."

"And what about your stereo? Your jambox? He took them both and pawned them. What has he done for you? What has he brought into your house?"

"He takes good care of my baby."

Oh, dear God, I had stumbled into a surprise live taping of Jerry Springer.

As soon as I was next in line, the window directly in front of me closed, and the person sitting at it walked away. I turned to the person next to me and sarcastically quipped, "Your tax dollars hard at work, folks!"

Luckily, another person came to work the window. Instead of the perfectly normal woman who had been there before, now sat a poor poor man who quite obviously had emphysema or some other quite serious lung ailment. I'm talking Darth Vader breathing. The room took on a bit of surrealism as I sat at the window, overhearing the escalating conversation about how much of a loser this girl's boyfriend was, and Laraine did you pay the cell phone bill, and Laraine how much more of your stuff are you going to let him pawn??- all the while, trying to concentrate on what the guy at the window was telling me, which I didn't get much of because- breathing problem!

I simply couldn't believe that people would air out their dirty laundry in public like that- it was very uncomfortable. I felt dirty for hearing it (though I had no choice), and not a little bit embarrassed for them.

Immediately after finishing up my business there, I went to Central Market, hoping the immersion in gourmet food would wipe the blech of the Social Security Office off.

Worked like a charm.

Saturday, October 02, 2004

Masochistic Literature

Upon starting to read certain books, I sometimes decide I don’t really like the book, yet will suffer through, just to see if it gets better. Pages pass, it doesn’t get better, and I continue reading to see whether it has a redeeming ending. I am disappointed more often than pleasantly surprised. Below is the list of offenders.

The Fig Eater
Jody Shields
Apparently, I don't find drawn-out crime drama "gripping" like The New York Times, or "hypnotically entrancing" like USA Today. I'm actually going to stop myself before reading through to the end on this one- break the cycle!!!

The Devil Wears Prada
Lauren Weisberger
My review lives here.

Madame Bovary
Gustave Flaubert
When she killed herself at the end, I remember thinking “Oh, thank GOD!” I also wished she would have done it sooner.

Great Expectations
Charles Dickens
Ich. I don't even want to go into it.

Anne Rice
I am usually a fan. This book, however…no. I thought it quite funny to see the large number of copies available at Half Price Books. Apparently, I wasn’t alone in my assessment.

Funny Things

[ManThing walks through the house, turning on the lights prior to a party]
"I'm turning on the lights so the house will be lit."
CADMonkey: "Soon I will be, too!"

Instructions read on a package of Frozen Falafel Balls:
Preheat oven to 400 degrees.
Apply olive oil or oil of your choice to balls.
Place balls on cookie sheet.
CADMonkey: "Sounds painful."

ManThing: "I don't remember when I drank my first hurricane."
CADMonkey: "Isn't that kind of the point?"

[CADMonkey, cutting "washing instruction" tags off potholders]
"They're from IKEA. If I need to wash them, I'll just throw them away."

Friday, October 01, 2004

Next Book, Please!!

Disclaimer: This post contains my review of The Devil Wears Prada, by Lauren Weisberger. To make some of my points clear, I make specific references to the book; thus the review contains spoilers. If you don’t want to know, don’t read any further. This review is also my opinion. If you don’t agree, good for you! Post an intelligent differing opinion, and we can discuss it like grown-ups. Post any deliberately inflammatory comments, and I will mercilessly make fun of you in my next post!

I completely misread the book’s cover synopsis when I picked it up- I thought the boss was going to turn out to actually be, well, the Devil. Oops.

Due to this misunderstanding, The Devil Wears Prada became the newest entry in my Masochistic Literature list. There was a slight bit of payoff when Andrea told Miranda to go fuck herself, but only because I dream of doing the same thing. I especially hated the way everything got wrapped up in a nice, neat, little package- way too quickly and easily- at the end. All of a sudden- TADAH!- she becomes a writer for a national magazine?!? Whatever.

There was much skipping around the timeline of this book, and I found myself having to reread certain parts to figure out why Weisberger had placed them where they were. The author is very good at capturing the feeling of unbearable stress- that was, in part, what made reading the book so difficult for me. Unfortunately, I have vast experience with this kind of stress (being asked to do tasks in an impossible amount of time, being given vague instructions and having it implied that you will be severely punished for seeking clarification), and her depictions of it made me relive these feelings acutely. Not comfortable.

In several instances, the heroine states that she “doesn’t care about fashion;” yet she knows the names and brands of every piece of couture she comes across. There are a number of annoying paragraphs comprised solely of lists of names of people in the fashion industry. Major skim-over material.

To the book’s credit, there were several funny bits, but they weren’t numerous enough to improve the overall reading experience.

I fully intend to recycle my copy.

Today, I started looking for reviews of it online, to see whether anybody else thought it was the piece of crap I thought it was, or if all the reviewers had been brainwashed into fawning all over it because it’s “a national bestseller!” (Yes, I do realize the irony that I bought it, too- but I got mine at Half Price Books, so… HAH?)

While conducting my search, I came across the disturbing news that there is going to be a movie made about this awful book. It would seem that Hollywood’s decline into the crapper continues. Given the writing style, I can’t really envision how this movie would play out. Two hours of name-dropping doesn’t seem like something I’d want to spend cash on.

Perhaps I just lack the genius necessary to bring such a classic to the big screen.