bitches

  • 10 May 2012 at 3:41 PM

Your Dream Gig: Now Within Reach

Back in the day, as in 2007, Wall Street compensated its employees in a way that made them feel loved. In a way that made them feel special. In a way that made the long hours, the constant stress, the soaring highs and the crashing lows, the verbal and sometimes physical abuse bearable. Now, obviously, not so much. Combine that with suffocating regulation and you’ve got a bunch of financial services hacks who are saying “I want out.” Some, like the Goldman partners who’ve already made enough money to not have to work again, are simply retiring. Others are waiting to get fired. Yet others are seeking out the warm embrace of hedge funds. A lesser number, however, are using the shift as an opportunity to finally leap for that dream, be it baking cupcakes or slapping bare asses with branches. But what about your dream?

You know the one. The one you’ve never shared with a soul. The one that’s always in the back of your head. The one that keeps you up at night. The has you giving the side-eye to the dog-walkers you see your neighborhood– because it’s not fair. YOU should be the one wrangling the packs of pups, masterfully juggling dozens of leashes at a time that you’d never let get knotted.  Unfortunately, because this is the world we live in, no one would ever give you a chance. Something about being overqualified for the job, they said, looking you up and down in your dress pants and blue button-down, smirking, thinking “Like this guy can command the respect of a bunch of bitches. A single Bichon Frisé would make mincemeat out of him.”

Plus, you had a lifestyle to maintain and the golden handcuffs were still a serious draw. Now though, you’ve been unshackled. And you know all those little plastic bags you’ve been subconsciously saving under the sink for years, waiting for your moment to come? It’s arrived. Read more »

  • 29 Nov 2011 at 12:30 PM

Connecticut Powerball “Winners” Go The Extra Mile

Yesterday afternoon, three Greenwich men came forward with a winning Powerball ticket worth $254 million. Lottery officials had been searching for nearly a month to find them, posting billboards all over Connecticut “urging” the ticket holder to reveal him or herself and claim the prize. But when Gregg Skidmore, Tim Davidson, and Brandon Lacoff finally did, it was not how people pictured it. Frank Farricker, for one, was very disappointed. He’d expected the men to be more excited, more celebratory, more over the top pumped about their windfall. Frank didn’t get that, though. Instead he got three guys who seemed at best embarrassed and at worst pained to be collecting, after taxes, a lump sum of $103.5 million. At the time, some speculated that the reason the trio, Skidmore in particular, looked like they were about to have a group colonoscopy rather than take home a bag of cash, was that they were worried how it would appear, given that they are not just Gold Coast residents but money managers in Belpoint Capital, and you know how the general public feels about those types. Today, however, another theory has emerged. Read more »

Thinking about getting divorced (for a first, second or third time)? When it comes time to divide assets, which are you more willing to take your ex to court over- kids or dog? According to a new study- by the people who brought you the statistic that 87% of adulterous financial services employees cheat with colleagues- the majority of divorcing bankers could take the kids or leave them but really want that damn dog. Read more »

  • 10 Nov 2008 at 10:52 AM

Obviously Gasparino Is My Guess

Picture 156.pngSo for some reason Erin Burnett and Mark Haines’s fill-in are discussing what “it says about men who like little dogs.” MH’s FI notes that “we have some people at CNBC, one of our colleagues– a male colleague– who has a small dog, but I won’t out him.” Then I guess it falls to us (you). Please identify a. said colleague b. the type of canine c. the name of said canine. The first to correctly do so wins dog walking privileges for a week.