Category Archives: Jobs

Who Moved My Cookies?

cookies cover 3Jessie Newman was a smart, sexy, successful Weight Watchers leader, who had it all, until she caught her cheating husband, in the act. After tossing him to the curb, she had to quit the part-time career she loved and wound up stuck in a dead-end job, watching her butt grow. Now, married to a prominent and handsome neurosurgeon, who happens to think she’s cute, cellulite and all, Jessie is ready for a change.

Although it kills Jessie to leave her family, when her new husband, Dr. Tad Newman, gets offered a job in our nation’s capital, this former weight loss guru, still reeling after her failed first marriage, considers this the opportunity she’s been waiting for to quit job she hates, drop the twenty pounds she’s packed on, and embark on a new career.

Happily married at last, Jessie looks forward to letting go of her former life and embarking on a journey of self-improvement. In Who Moved My Cookies?, Jessie sets out to start a new career during a time when companies are downsizing, not hiring. In between tackling online job applications, Jessie works on figuring out the perfect diet while fantasizing about fitting into those clothes she’s been saving since shoulder pads were the height of fashion, even if it means giving up meat and cookies. But not M&M’s. She has her limits. Most importantly, Jessie is determined to make this marriage work, in spite of the many hours her husband is now spending with his sexy new assistant, who just happens to become the subject of the murder mystery she is writing????

As a former Weight Watchers leader who helped thousands lose weight on the Weight Watchers program, I know what it is like to stand in front of the freezer, sneaking a few bites, licks and tastes from the half-gallon containers of mint chocolate chip ice cream and tubes of frozen cookie dough I kept hidden behind the frozen broccoli.

If you can relate to Jessie, or just want a really fun Bridget Jones- type of read, please take a look at Who Moved My Cookies?

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Hold Tight to Your Dreams

20130423-231947.jpgThe will to keep striving
It comes and goes
Sometimes we’re strong
Other times, not so.

Raring to pursue
Through thick and through thin
We often just hang on
And sometimes give in.

Life’s unpredictable
Often a challenge
We push and push harder
We might lose our balance.

Grasp tight to the dream
Beg, steal or borrow
What’s out of our reach now
Might be our tomorrow.

All is not lost
When turned down by some

A door will then open
Out comes the sun.

A brighter tomorrow
Is within our grasp
If we just hang on
Our day will come at last.

I will get mine
And so will you
If we just hang in for the long haul

And not be so blue.

They say just smile
And act really charming
Pretend you are happy
It’s not so alarming.

What’s the alternative?
Pouting you say.
Laugh at your problems
That’s the best way.

Hang on to the moment

Hold tight to your dreams
You will be happy soon
If you just believe.

Good things are worth
The time and the wait
Your moment in the sunshine
Will come, if you have faith.

 

How to Get Published

If you were an actor
A star on TV
Or movies or films
Or videos you see.

Your words would be quoted
Your photos displayed
Your scent set in perfume
They’d publish your play.

They’d market your book
Your poems and your thoughts
If your name was famous
Your work would be bought.

Just say you’re a Kardashian
Or Hilton already
Or Clinton or Streisand
Or even a Getty.

Your words would get noticed
You’d sure get a bump.
If you were a Seinfeld,
A Bloomberg or Trump.

Or Rowling or Baldwin,
Obama or Carter
A Kennedy, a Kotb
Or famous globe trotter.

It’s not all about
The writing you do
It’s just who you are
The name you’re born to.

Still, never give up
Write every day
When you become famous
They’ll hear what you say.

Vomiting at the Unemployment Office

“I won! I finished dressing first!” I was so proud of myself for being the first one in the house ready to go out. I could never understand why it took my mom so long to get dressed until the first time I witnessed her whole routine. Sitting cross-legged on her bed, elbows on my knees, I watched in awe as she expertly applied layer upon layer of makeup in a procedure seemingly as complex as turning Robin Williams into Mrs. Doubtfire. The moisturizer, the foundation, the pancake, all smoothed to perfection before the colors were applied. The Clinique samples, spread out on her cherry dresser, thankfully covered the dent I made when I accidentally dropped her prized Lalique perfume bottle, the one I knew better than to play with. Mesmerized by her daily routine, I prayed she wouldn’t mention my transgression again as I sat there, watching, learning.

After the lipstick, the rouge, the eye shadow and mascara met Mom’s approval, we were ready to go. I wasn’t sure what to think or where to look while standing in the unemployment line with my mother. Staring at my black patent leather Mary Janes, I clung to my Mom’s side as she proudly stood in her high heeled pumps, sporting her favorite herringbone suit she probably bought out-of-season for 75% off Bloomingdale’s suggested retail price. I can picture her leather pocketbook wedged tightly in the crook of her arm while we waited patiently to pick up her weekly check.

I’ll never forget that smoke-filled room with its paint chipped walls and orange plastic chairs bolted to the floor. Many of the people in line wore Levi’s and faded tee shirts emblazoned with team names like the one I wore at my summer day camp. Others donned skirts or slacks with crisp white shirts. Mom wouldn’t let me sit down or touch anything. She said the seats were dirty. I wasn’t allowed to make eye contact with anyone, but they stared at us. I felt different.

I sensed heads turn toward us when it was my mom’s turn at the counter. I stared at my shoes as Mom politely answered the woman’s questions. “Yes, I’ve been looking for work.” I wasn’t sure why I felt so uncomfortable at the time, although I knew I didn’t want to go back. After she received her check she explained to me that she had paid into the system and now it was time to get her money back.

With the check securely locked in her purse, we spent the afternoon at the Short Hills Mall. She shopped and treated me to ice cream. Before returning home Mom reminded me, “Don’t tell your father what we bought. I’ll hide the bill when it comes in the mail.”

Years later I felt like I was following in Mom’s footsteps when I found myself in the unemployment line soon after the Pittsburgh Press proclaimed: Record Unemployment. Calling me into his corner office, I assumed my manager wanted me to feel special as he sat me down and told me, “You’re not being fired. You have been chosen as the employee we need to lay off.” “Why me?” I asked, surprised. I hadn’t seen this coming at all. “Mary complained you are making faces at her.”

How could I defend myself against this accusation? I was being let go because, apparently, I have no control what my face does. There are laws against discriminating on the basis of race, creed, color, age, disability, national origin, religion, military duty, genetics or gender. But to my knowledge, making involuntary facial expressions is not a protected class. Could it be a disability? I’ll need to find out.

My second week on unemployment I begged the nice woman in front of me to hold my place in line while I ran to the ladies room to vomit. Wondering if it was the fish I’d had for dinner or the thought of the taxidermist I passed on the way to unemployment, I had no clue. I knew this visit would not end at an ice cream parlor.

The following day, while fitting me for my first pair of contact lenses, my eye doctor stepped back while I unceremoniously passed out in his chair. Surrounded by all the machinery for fitting glasses, I found myself awakening to the smell of ammonia just like a fainting scene in a period movie . Where am I? What’s going on? “Don’t worry,” my eye doctor assured me. “Some of my most successful contact lens wearers pass out their first time. Maybe you’re hungry.”

After I returned to the eye doctor after polishing off a huge pastrami on rye with extra pickles, I couldn’t help but think the vomiting and the fainting were more than a coincidence. I couldn’t be pregnant, could I? I had been trying ever since my involuntary job lay off. My brain was spinning. In those days, before the convenience of home pregnancy tests, women wanted to be pretty sure before we ran to the doctor to get the news. At home that night, obsessing again about making that doctor’s appointment as I dipped my kosher dill pickle into ketchup, I started worrying what the doctor would say if I wasn’t pregnant. What if he thinks I’m crazy? Or worse, what if he said, “relax, it’ll happen.” Doctors always belittle my concerns.

Finally, after throwing up every day for nearly a week, convinced I had a bad case of the flu, I finally made that doctor’s appointment to find out what was wrong with me. Yes, the rabbit died! The following week I fully expected to vomit again at the unemployment agency.

Life is not always fair. I should not have been laid off. However, in the grand scheme of things, stuff happens for a reason. Looking back, this was meant to be.

Have you ever been unjustly “let go”? Please share.

What Does a Nurse Make?

“You’re a nurse? Cool. I used to want to be a nurse when I was a kid. What do you make?”

“WHAT DO I MAKE?”

I make holding your hand seem like the most important thing in the world when you’re scared.

I make your child breathe when they stop.

I help your father survive a heart attack.

I make myself get out of bed at 5am to make sure your mother has the medicine she needs to live.

I work all day to save the lives of strangers.

Today, I might save your life.

I make a difference.

“WHAT DO YOU MAKE?”

I’m proud of my daughter, the nurse,who posted this on facebook.

Please comment on why you love nurses!