I just got back from the wedding in England where I drunkenly embarrassed myself so drastically that I might just ban myself from the United Kingdom altogether. As a side note, congratulations to K & A. The wedding was beautiful! And Vix, here’s your big shout-out! Thanks for the lovely big sleep-over and I miss you terribly already. 

Betty Business – Betty shows up to work early, doesn’t take lunch and stays late. Whether she’s doing it to impress her boss(es) or really has that much work to do, she’s serious about her job. Betty’s a nice girl, but she doesn’t have too many friends in the office, mostly because she’s working through lunch and working past happy hour. But because of that, she’s a favorite among the higher-ups. Sometimes her business savvy comes off as being a little ruthless because, after all, she is looking out for herself and her career.

My commute compared to others is quite simple. I walk to the PATH, I get on the PATH, ride a few stops, get off and walk a few blocks to my office.

For such a simple commute, one would think that getting from Point A to Point B would be relatively painless. But of course this is never true. I’ve complained and whined about commuting PDA (and how it should be banned completely), but now I have something new to complain about. My new gripe: how men become complete a-holes when commuting.

I am not one of those girls that complain about chivalry being dead. Just to preface, I like to think of myself as bit of a feminist (I go on tirades about feminism when drunk so don’t get me started) so I’m not going to stare down a m. And while I do think that I, as a woman, am capable of most things that men are, I don’t think that means that all the rules of respect between men and women should be discarded. I’m pretty traditional in that I like having my chair pulled out for me at a nice restaurant or having a guy hold the door open for me as I enter my apartment. To me these rules of etiquette are just a gesture of respect.

I feel like most men are good about these rules. Holding doors, helping me with my groceries are just little things that I have experienced lately that make me have faith in chivalry.

That is, until I step out of my apartment building at 8 a.m. Because it seems that all the rules of respect and chivalry are thrown to the wayside when men are commuting.

Yesterday morning, I witnessed a woman juggle a baby (who was so effing adorable btw), the baby’s bottle/pacifier/baby bag, and her files for the day and no one offered her their seat. And let me tell you there were plenty of males in those plastic seats who could have gotten off their Crackberries to let her sit down. Can we say rude?

And the rudeness doesn’t just stop at the subway and not offering seats to ladies who are obviously preggers, it follows me all the way to the office. Literally, I was practically run over by a gaggle of men fighting me to get into the elevator this morning. Are you kidding me? I was obviously here before you and I’m a woman! Please don’t body check me so you can get to your floor first.

Bus rides seem to have a similar effect on men. A bus stops and men literally jump over women, pushing and shoving, to get off first. Which leaves me to ask, where has all the chivalry gone on my morning commute?

All I’m asking for is a little respect – a hand gesture indicating that I can exit the bus first, or an offer that I can have that seat on the subway, or holding the elevator for one second longer as I race into work 10 minutes late.

I need more chivalry on my morning commute.

A work day doesn’t go by that I don’t talk to WG2 on gchat. That is, unless one of us is out of the office, which was the case today. WG2 has left for London to attending a wedding. Obvi, I’m jealous, she has tomorrow, Friday and Monday off. Biotch. 

Tuesdays are my most hated days of the work week. 

3. “Believe” by The Bravery.

Work was busy today, especially after taking a Summer Friday last week, so I didn’t have time to check my Working Girl e-mail. It wasn’t until I commuted home and ate my leftovers from Q’doba (I love my chips and guac) that I checked my Working Girl Gmail account. 

Typically, my inbox has a few e-mails, notifying me of comments from our lovely and loyal readers. Today, there were over 25 comments, not to mention e-mails from new readers telling us how much they liked our blog (thank you!) and asking who designed it (Delicious Design Studio). WG2 and I love getting comments and e-mails but 25 in one day. Phew. We were blown away. So as I hungrily consumed my guac I kept thinking, “Where are all these readers coming from? Are we on a new blog roll?”

Finally, one of your comments gave me the answer. Rowena from Rubber Slippers In Italy pointed out that Working Girl is Blogger’s most recent Blog of Note. As someone who often checks out the Blogs of Note, all I have to say is: How effing cool is that?!

When we started this blog, WG2 and I wanted place to write what we were going through as new Working Girls, a place where other Working Girls could commiserate, live through our experiences, and maybe even garner some knowledge. As cheesy as this sounds, since we started blogging in January we’ve felt like we have little more purpose and meaning in our lives. Working 9-5 (and by 5 I mean 6:30) pays the bills, but writing this blog gives us a creative outlet and just makes us feel good. But it’s not just the writing that makes us feel good, it’s the comments and the stories you all share with us.

So, thank you readers for making us feel loved and thank you to Blogger for making us feel like rock stars. We feel pretty damn good. I can only hope that my bosses and coworkers are not Blogger users because if they find this, I may not have a job to blog about.

The online shopping website Bluefly makes me want to punch a baby (just an expression, don’t worry readers I’m not literally running around NYC punching babies).

It’s beginning to feel a lot like Christmas…in my office. It’s the middle of July – hot and humid and gross – but once I walk into that office it’s like I am immediately transported to the month of January – cold and cold and cold. 

Ok, I didn’t hook up with a coworker. In fact, when I told WG2 that I was going to write about hooking up with coworkers she sarcastically said to me “Why? Because you have so much experience?”

She’s right, I have little experience hooking up with coworkers. Unless you count when I was the commentary editor of my college newspaper and I started hooking up with the editor in chief. Yes, my working boy and I have quite the dorky story. But that doesn’t mean we didn’t get hot and heavy once or twice. Ok, just once and we got interrupted. Awkward.

WG2 actually has her own story about hooking up with a coworker but I’ll let her tell that one herself. I’m going to tell you a story about my friend, we’ll call her LP after her favorite designer Lilly Pulitzer, who innocently went to happy hour and hooked up with a coworker. LP works in the financial district, what she does exactly, I have no idea. But she works with many a hot working boy.

Now, LP loves her white wine almost as much as she loves a preppy boy in a collared shirt and pink gingham oxford shorts. This happy hour she got plenty of both. And plenty of Grey Goose. We’ll call LP’s hookup BW. BW told LP that he would take her home because she was drunk. LP could have taken a company paid car home but what’s a drunk Working Girl to do? In this case, go with the working boy. I won’t go into detail about what exactly happened when they hooked up because (a) she didn’t tell me and (b) we’re not that kind of blog.

The next day is what really matters, as it always does after a drunken hook up. The next day, LP was not in a good place. She was hungover. BW, knowing she would have a raging hangover, kindly brought her a water in the morning. Later in the day, her coworkers kindly informed her that he was married.

After the fateful night, LP and BW went to lunch a few times and LP noticed that this working boy doesn’t wear his wedding band. Either he is a bad husband or he really isn’t married. That is still to be determined. Either way, LP came to the conclusion that another hook up was not in the future. That was until the Training Class Graduation happy hour. There was more white wine, more Grey Goose shots and more of preppy BW. A party soon followed at a nearby apartment. Long story short, LP and BW proceeded to hook up in the master bedroom.

Every so often BW brings LP coffee. LP doesn’t even like coffee, she drinks Sunkist Orange Soda for breakfast, but everytime he brings it she pretends that she does. And that’s just the beginning of the awkwardness…