After a devastatingly emotional 2018, I chose to make this year exceptional. Haven’t changed my mind one iota despite the ridiculous situations I continue to jump into feet first!
A handsome man recently came after me like a house on fire. He wasn’t 32 or 102 (the norm) but my age. I was busy as 17 bees and traveling, so the first few weeks were filled with relentless texts and phone calls. I can flirt with the best of them, but when posed HIMSELFIES started arriving, I was not amused – not my jam. Requests for me to send him photos were ignored (dude, we know what we look like, gah!)
Think Jon Hamm in “Bridesmaids”. I told him he was scaring me. He flipped the script to tell me I was attracted to him and scared of loosing (sic) control. Not so much, bud. But I was trying to be nice and agreed to meet him for coffee ( easy, fast, escapable). Dios mio!
One hour spent listening to how uber fabulous he was and all his recent -and stupid- first and last dates made my brains boil. I have no poker face so I’m positive my only thought resonated through my pores (kill me now).
Upon leaving, he asked if I wanted to go out again. I said “yes” but thought “oh, hell no”. When I returned to my office, there was already a text. “Did you have fun?” “Yes, did you?” (Please say no, please!). “I did, yes. You are a smart smart ass.” WHAT? “Mon dieu- not a very nice thing to be”. And then, he says, “I believe it is”. Thank you, AT&T, iPhone, and all the powers that be, I immediately blocked the narcissist and HIMSELFIES till pigs fly. Silence speaks volumes. Guess his ginormous ego keeps him warm and cozy at night. Good grief, things can only get better from here (crossing fingers).
Thank U, Next
* 5 years ago … It happened again. Different skirt, different lot. Meh!
As I was walking from my office to my car, my skirt hit the concrete. I remained upright, standing there in front of God and everybody, in my top and underwear. I do not have a tan – on purpose, but I sure could have used one at that moment. My legs look like abnormally long pieces of packaged chicken. Read: white. Did have on nice underwear, but it just doesn’t compensate for the lack of skin color – in daylight. Couldn’t grab the demon garment because I was holding boards. The wooden kind. Ignored the horrified screaming and running of garage mates and finally managed to pull that sucker up under my arms. And took my boards to the post office to mail them.
Who mails boards? As in not- too- long- but- sorta- heavy boards? Interior designers, that’s who. I’m not a designer, I am the office ODDJOB. Without the razor-brimmed hat. My areas of expertise are research (“Here’s a picture of a painting. We need to know who the artist is. There is no information, no caption, no nothing, don’t even know when or where the picture of painting came from. Go!” I found artist and a silkscreen of painting to purchase in 30 minutes), food choices (“Everyone is dieting but I still think we should get a cake, should we get a cake?” Get the cake. Am genius), and mailing boards.
Had to stick my stomach out to keep skirt on in post office. Happy foreign man says, “You want to mail boards?”. I said indeed I did and the cost must be under $100. He started laughing and speaking to himself in his native tongue. Am thinking that means cost will be well over the budget. Skirting the details,I return to office with humble, sad face. Walked into designers bull pen, looking for my boss to tell her about expense. That damn skirt went south again. My colleagues, all women, were nonplussed; they are used to my wardrobe malfunctions. Paper-clipped skirt top to underwear and called it a day.
Did I mention I live in the city located just on the outskirts of Hell? Where it is 81-degrees at 7 a.m.? This morsel of info is only necessary because sweats are not clothing here, sweats are a perpetual state of the body. Every body. So skirt slippage was heat-related. As evening approaches, it is a brisk 80-degrees inside my house; the a/c is working its ass(?) off, making the same sounds that pierce the air when empty cans are put in dryer and dryer is turned on high. War zone ambience. Trying to relax and cool down.
Turn on the computer and get some news. Apparently bird doo facials are all the rage in NYC; you, too, can have one for $180. So “Emperor’s New Clothes”, I can’t even wrap this. My mind is grinding, so I’ll throw out an offer for bird poop facial aficionados …. you are most welcome to sit on my patio – all day long – for $10; you will be delighted by all the bird bombs that cover your entire self. There is only one catch … bring earplugs… the a/c sound might disturb your bliss. Come early and stay late.
Don’t even think I”m complaining, I’m not. Based on what I read, hear, and see, I am beyond lucky. If anyone needs a skirt fail, a scary loud a/c, a poop facial provided by numerous regional birds, and/or boards mailings, you know where to look.
*P.S. Always wear nice underwear, even if you aren’t riding in the car … you never know ….. just saying.
Later. If I don’t melt…
Today is the last day of the week. It better be as far as I’m concerned. After a six-day roller coaster ride full of false starts and insane requests, coupled with stress x 325, I feel a bit of a rant coming on. Sharing …
- Nights and Days of the Living Dead: I live in a midrise. Every single fire alarm in every single room of every single residence – as well as all the hallways – had to be checked. This took three days. Yeah, yeah, it’s for safety, I get that. And we were warned to board animals and don earplugs as the sound would be deafening. Understatement. We have all been zombified.
- No Good Deed Goes Unpunished: Had some editing work to do for an author. I was instructed to stop when my fee reached a certain figure. This guy is a friend, there was a lot of material to reconfigure, so I did a full edit. I left money on the table but can’t stop myself when words get in the way. Sent him his edit and then received an email requesting no less than five more hours of editing for free. My head said, “Dude, are you frigging kidding me?”. Instead, I told him to put his own suggestions into words and see what he comes up with. Like some $$$$$!
- Why You Gotta Be So Rude? Went to a lovely small gathering Friday night. Met a new couple from London; they were fun and interesting. At the end of the evening, we are all at the door, thanking our host and hostess. Mrs. London invited host and hostess to brunch today. She added, “We can take them but it would be more fun, just the four of us.” EXCUSE ME. “Them” included me and another person; we have ears and we were standing right next to her. It would behoove this muppet to grab an etiquette book AND keep her stiff upper – and lower – British lips zipped. Gah!
Off to sip my arsenic cocktail while watching Wolf Hall.
Methinks herding unicorns is about as easy as hunting for a job. As I am currently involved in the latter, I know of what I speak. My Dad, the man who paid for my college education, suggested I apply to be a greeter at Walmart. While I’m sure Walmart greeting is a lovely occupation, I don’t think the blue apron thing is bulletproof and am far too snarky to smile for eight hours. Unless the salary is a $500/hour situation.
My French friend, AJ, wants me to teach conversational English. Bless her heart, she doesn’t know I have been a very bad teacher. I don’t believe instructing her to say “Hell, no!”, “Are you kidding me?”, “Get lost!” and other pleasantries will be of much help. At least she will never be bullied. Could totally teach conversational cursing but don’t think the position exists. If you’d like to take this course, it’s $500/hour.
You may wonder what my skill set includes. This would be laughing, walking my dog, reading, and eating. I know, amazing, right? Seriously, I do have experience in many areas. Just have to find that golden ticket. And I will. Maybe it’s canning cornichons, testing trampolines … the possibilities are endless. My only prerequisite is a salary.
The very best outcome would be to do what I love while helping as many people as possible. Please do not suggest customer service.
Off to jump in my bed and pull covers over my head. Because this is such a productive activity and representative of stong motivation and focus. Gah!
Apparently it’s National Friendship Week. Next week reserved for red noses. But I digress …
My Dad once said, “If you have a handful of true friends, you are lucky.” At the time, I thought he was being negative and ridiculous. Why, I had a million friends (I was young). Turns out, he was right and I was wrong. And, surprisingly, I love when I am proven wrong because I learn from it. And it’s important to me to never stop learning. I am lucky. I do have a handful of true friends, precious gifts I love and treasure.
Friendship is a sticky wicket. A delicate situation. I love my friends. I’m hard to love, so I’m lucky to have any.
- The Forever Friends – these are the wonderful people I may not see for 10 days, weeks, or years yet we pick up right where we left off – ahh, beautiful!
- “I Wanna Talk About Me” Friends – we all have them; as long as they are the subject of all conversation, all is well. Try to get a word in edgewise, like “Oops, I’m bleeding to death” – impossible. Just gotta love them anyway. From a distance.
- Let’s Have Lunch Friends – never happening, don’t kid yourself. They are really awesome people but chicken salad sandwiches and iced tea are not anywhere in your future.
- Spill Your Guts/I Don’t Know You Friends – they appear at your door, spill their guts about a situation, situation gets fixed. Next time they see you, they look right through you. Pitiful. Don’t answer door next time.
- Deep As A Pie Pan Friends – can only talk about parties, travel, clothes, and light fabulousity; requires massive quantities of NoDoz and temporary loss of short-term memory.
So now I’m thinking I really am lucky to have my handful. As for the rest, move along. In the words of my new hero, Mark Manson, “I don’t give a f*&@!”. (You are thinking this started out so nicely … SURPRISE!).
Off to work out snarkiness … maybe
P.S. Many thanks to bestie Austin Ann for intro to writing of Mark Manson
Today has not been bad. It’s been … meh. preceded by much of the same. What do you do when you don’t know what to do?
The “experts” say the happiest people in this world are grateful, no matter what their circumstances. Cool. God knows I’m grateful. Just haven’t reached the “no matter what the circumstances” zone. Definitely something to aspire to.
I get this way sometimes. Good grief, at this stage of the game, you’d think I’d have this life stuff all tied up in a bow. Maybe it’s dull routine, maybe it’s a long weekend stretching ahead.
In the olden days, my “escape plan” from these feelings was not well thought out, but a plan nonetheless. Just get on I-10 and head west and eventually I would end up in California. Like I said, not much of a plan.
Painful but oh so true. And it’s pretty much self-inflicted as “others” have no concept of my expectations and that’s not fair to them.
Note to self: No Instagram or Facebook until further notice.
I like that idea. Lighten up and move on down the alphabet.
PERFECT!! My favorite thing to do. So I think I will dance and eat a bunch of chocolate.
That would sum it up.
Off to dance, eat chocolate, and pray.