welcome, welcome, welcome

My name is A, and I work at a hedge fund. Sort of. I think.

To say that I've always been directionally challenged would be a grave understatement, and this might help explain how a comms major stumbled into finance when looking for a marketing position. I didn't have a clue as to what hedge funds were, where they were, what they did--I've never even TRIMMED freaking hedges. Fast forward two years, and here I am today, reconciling daily trade breaks. Ah, progress.

I graduated in 2004, bright-eyed, bushy-tailed and prepared to take over the world. As I sit here stamping trade ticket after trade ticket after trade ticket, I occasionally wonder where the hell everything went awry.

Do I like my job? No, not really. Fine. Not at all. Finance is like physics to me: As long as it works, I don't really care. Then why, you ask, do I continue to do this day in and day out. Easy. The initial purpose for staying was that I didn't want to move back home, and even if I DID, my bedroom has since been converted to a bathroom (no, I'm not kidding. Apparently, one of the benefits of being the first-born is that your room becomes the first major renovation. My parents were practically salivating when I told them I had a job offer at the southern end of the state). Regardless, the money is okay, the trader that I work for treats me well (he neither curses nor throws objects at me) and the shenanigans around here are mindboggling. I'm certain that no matter where I travel next, I'll never meet a motley crew quite like this. My boyfriend has referred to our firm as the "island of misfit toys" (still not quite sure where I fit into that equation...note to self: ask for clarification), and generally speaking, he's right. We have all come from different backgrounds, with completely different (and generally incompatible) personalities to form a commodities hedge fund that has enjoyed a relative degree of success. It would be impossible to describe each person in this initial entry, so hopefully you'll get a feel for each of my coworkers as the days go by. Obviously, I will not be using their real names, and I would appreciate it if anyone who knows me refrains from stating my name, location, etc. in any comments left for confidentiality purposes. I'll try to focus most entries on the office happenings rather than my specific job and responsibilities, but reserve the right to bitch if I've had a particularly bad day. This is my blog, dammit.

The office is comprised of 5 women and 14 men, and there are typically 14 of us on any given day. All of the "usual" men are married, all of the women are single. This occasionally prompts discussion about relationships; the men encourage all singles to remain single for the rest of eternity, the women remain hopeful for a happily ever after (aside from our jaded office divorcee, "Beth"). "Greg" was the last of the guys to bite the dust, and from his wedding day forward, the other men have been actively trading his fat. Yes, we have a GregFat market where the traders place trades based on how much weight he will gain or lose during his first year of marriage. I am not involved in the trading, and instead contribute by researching fat-related articles and sharing with the group so they can make informed decisions. I used to write a weekly commentary but had to stop when one reader (the reader that happens to sign my paycheck) was offended by a projection I made about his weight (I maintain that this was a gross underestimate of his poundage). Regardless, today I found an article that stated:

"We’ve all been there—you get into a relationship, and suddenly you’re trying out new recipes all the time and cuddling instead of exercising. Well, things tend to get worse with marriage. A recent Cornell University study found that women generally gain five to eight pounds in the first few years of marriage and unhappily married women gain an average of 54 pounds in the first 10 years."

54 pounds! That's a 7 year-old's (http://www.babybag.com/articles/htwt_av.htm) worth of unhappiness! Now, although this study pertained to women, Greg has already put on 27% of this in a mere 8 months. One cannot be certain whether this is indicative of an unhappy union (highly doubtful--I've met his wife and she is 1) disproportionaly more attractive than him 2) disproportionately funnier than him and 3) just all around better) or a desire to provide volatility to the GregFat market. The managing partner found the research above to be both ridiculous and unbelievable, and polled all of the men to see how much weight their wives have put on over the years. Apparently, the average is 13.6 pounds, so the guys must be doing something right. There was only 1 wife with a weight gain of 25 pounds, and there were three claims of "unchanged." A second informal, non-scientific poll demonstrated that the men have gained an average of 18 pounds. "Jessica" who is engaged and (sort of) in the process of planning a wedding absorbed this research, absolutely horrified. There have been several unsuccessful attempts to change her mind about the whole situation, and I'm not sure what impact this will have on her. After the discussion, we broke out the menu for a nearby cafe and ordered greasy burgers. Bring on the gorgonzola. I'm still single.

Lesson: If you would like to stay svelte, don't get married. And if you do, you'd best be damn sure you like the guy or else put yourself at risk of having a 7-year-old...around your hips.