Mission: Improbable

Yesterday afternoon I printed my Outlook calendar for the weekend and the upcoming week. I realized the date and promptly swore.

Back in May I set a goal: get a boyfriend by the Christmas office party. I remember laughing at the idea. The Christmas office party is at the end of the year and it was only May. Besides, I had been seeing one person regularly for the previous five months, so it didn't seem that improbable.

I scrolled through the Outlook Calendar and checked the date. The party is December 2nd; it is now late October. Whatever I've been doing (and what the hell have I been doing?), I am now incapable of the boyfriend by early December. The best I can hope for is a date for the party.

And, oh my god, I'm not going to that party alone.

I printed out the new gym schedules and made an appointment with a personal trainer. Losing 10 pounds will aid in both looking good at the party and finding a date. I also switched my ballet classes to a different studio in Midtown.

I have six weeks. Oh my god, I have six weeks.

I just gave HurryDate my credit card number. I will see them next week to meet 12-20 men between the ages of 25-35. I also talked a friend into going to keep me company. She's excited; her boyfriend, however, is not.

I just posted a profile on-line too. The on-line profile will serve more as a backup, where I will see what kind of offers I get. I'm sorry, I just don't think trolling for guys on the Internet is sexy. This opinion may change come November.

I'm serious, I'm not going to this party alone. A few of you should probably expect a whiny phone call from me late November. There will be free booze if that helps.

Good stories to come...

I prefered throwing the football through the flaming tire, but whatever floats your boat

These MySpace games just officially got out of hand:

If you've ever wanted a job where you aren't allowed to wear your own underwear, here's your chance

(click for big)

Lands End

I was passing the cotton farms outside if Madison, GA, when I became scared. What was I thinking? Five days at the land's end by myself?

The house is nestled at the end of the Port Royal Sound, where the river meets the Atlantic. It is also the last house on the path before the Gullahs' property begins. Land's end couldn't be a more appropriate description.

I wondered if the seclusion that I craved not 20 minutes before would prove to be too much for me. In the city I was used to the night sky as a murky orange mist. Air pollution keeps it from getting dark at night, something I find both disturbing and comforting. But at the land's end there wouldn't be a paved road for miles, much less artificial light. Darkness becomes a pitch black that even my eyes can't adjust to. I'm not afraid to admit that I still find the darkness pretty scary at times.

I lost all radio connection to Atlanta outside of Madison in those cotton fields and I wondered if I had ever been completely isolated for five days before. Not without school or a job as a distraction.

"What are you going to do with yourself?" he asks me over dinner last week.

"I'm going to read. I love to explore the island on the golf cart, so I plan on doing that. Take the jet ski out. Do some shopping--" he nodded at all of these in agreement, "and play some dominoes. I always play dominoes at the beach."

"What? Like set them up so they fall down in patterns?"

"No. The game."

"By yourself?"

"Yup, like chess."

"You can play chess by yourself?"

"It's not unheard of."

Driving, I replayed the conversation in my head. I've never felt him judge me before-- it was one of the reasons I liked him-- but I heard the judgment in his laugh.

"I like games, okay? And it's hard to find someone willing to play," I said defensively.

I don't rely on other people for my happiness and I don't see anything wrong with going at things alone. But this vacation had me worried whether I was self-sufficient enough to entertain myself for five days.

I spent my vacation exactly how I said I would. And you know what? I wasn't lonely for one goddamned minute.

And the neighbors took me out to dinner Saturday night and played dominoes with me.

Conversations

(Watching Ford commercial where the girl buys the guy's dry cleaning)
JAMIE: What they don't tell you that the guy is already married. She'll never hear from him and he'll laugh about the chick that bought him laundry.
FATHER: Damn, that's cynical, even for you.

COWORKER: What did you bring for lunch?
JAMIE: Something frozen this was comes.
COWORKER: I am assuming that you are saying that you brought a Lean Cuisine.
JAMIE: Yup.
COWORKER: Save the Queen's English for someone smarter.

COWORKER: I will talk to the others about your hazing.
JAMIE: (Disbelieving) Uh huh.
COWORKER: It involves a plunger, tub of butter, and camel toe.
JAMIE: You're pleased with yourself.

SCOTT: Your hair has gotten long.
JAMIE: That's cause I'm single. I always let it grow out when I'm single.
JAMIE: (Simultaneously) Guys like long hair.
SCOTT: (Simultaneously) Guys like to pull it.
JAMIE: ...

Purse Predicament

"You made an excellent selection," she says to me. "This is the hottest handbag we have right now."

Apparently after a certain dollar figure, it's no longer a purse, it's a handbag.

I'm standing in the middle of the Coach store on Hilton Head Island. I must have circled the store 12 different times trying to get the feel of which handbag works best for me: it must be classic, it must be both summer and winter, and it absolutely must be big enough to carry a book.

I look around the room. Another perky blonde has the only remaining bag tucked under her arm as she peruses the rest of the selection. "See? We can't keep them in stock," the sales lady chatters. She pries the bag out of my hand and begins wrapping it in layers of Coach printed tissue paper.

"No leather cleaner is necessary, just mild soap and water."

"So don't stick it in the washing machine?"

The sales lady drops her jaw and wraps both arms protectively around the handbag. "Don't you dare!" she almost-screams. People turn and stare, including the other perky blonde. It was only then the sales lady sees my smile and understands I was teasing. "Whew! I almost refused to give you possession of the bag! You have quite a sense of humor there."

Well that's a nice way to put it.

In the car I unwrap the tissue paper enough so I could smell the leather. It smells... expensive. Even with the great deal I got on my purchase, it is still the most amount of money I've ever spent on a purse handbag.

Back at the beach house, I sit at the table with my old purse and my new handbag and clean everything off before transferring it. I lean back in my chair and stare triumphantly. The bag looks good. Very good. And it's mine.

But when it came time for dinner and I had to drive to the store, I transferred everything back and took my old purse. Even in the posh seaside town, I wasn't ready to make my debut as one of those girls. The Louis Vuittons, the Coaches, and the Dooney and Burkes are statements. They have the stigma of wearing the dollar sign on the outside and I wasn't sure I was ready to be defined by that.

Three days later and back in Atlanta, the bag has only changed kitchen tables. It's become a centerpiece. I was leaning against the counter eating a slice of cake and admiring my bag when the phone rang.

"How was your trip?" Erin asked.

"I went shopping."

"Ooh! What did you buy?"

I inhaled. "A Coach bag."

Erin was silent for a few seconds. "Oh."

"Yeah."

"Why?"

In her reaction everything I feared was confirmed. People would look at me differently. Strangers would silently judge me. She has that because she wants to be trendy. It doesn't matter that it's pretty and it smells good and that I like it.

This morning I left for work and the bag is still sitting pretty on my kitchen counter-- I justified it with it was raining outside. The dog sat by the door and watched me leave. I knew the brown leather and the Coach signature Cs would match her fur perfectly. She shook her head and the charm spelling "Coach" swung back down to the bottom of her neck.

Apparently I have no problem dressing my dog in a designer collar.

Baby steps.

Get Mortified

Forget that Slam Poetry Jam, the newest thing is to publicly humiliate yourself by reading your childhood diary in public forums. Apparently it's become so popular that TV execs are picking up the readings for a TV show. I'd be all over that if it was within MARTA distance, but since MARTA doesn't cross the Mason-Dixon line, this will have to do:

(I am going to copy as is. Proves that I wasn't always the grammatical genius that I am today. Last names are dropped in case anyone Googles themselves and finds the entry the crazy girl wrote when she was 9.)

4.22.91

Dear Diary,

Guess what my mom did? She rearranged my room! Now I don't know wear anything is! I gotta talk to you later, the boys are agertaving me.

I really need to talk to you now. I just lost my 2nd best friend, Michelle S. I just told her Friday that I was bringing Leigh C. to my dad's house, and now she hates me.

Today Beth L. is beinging like my best friend even though Leigh is my all time best friend. But it is pretty sad to lose your 2nd best friend. Well, I am going to go draw with Beth on the chalkboard so see you later.

I'm in after school now. Beth is still in homework. The questions were too hard so I'm going to ask Kevin for some help when I get home.

About Michelle- I don't think that this is a one day "Let's hate Jamie," I think this is for real. Plus I hated it to be around my birthday too. Should I talk to Mrs. Danford about it? I just don't know what to do. Even Julie won't play with me, she's with Michelle. I'm so lonely.

Well, should I let Missy R. be my friend or not? Sometimes I like her, and sometimes she drives me up a wall!

I can't talk about Missy when Michelle doesn't like me anymore. Beth is goofing off with Andrea and Dohn. Up! Beth just got into trouble! Oh! What am I going to do with Michelle? It's so awful.

You know, sometimes I wish that Leigh could go to after school. Sometimes it can be so lonely without her! Heh! I just remered tonight's pizza night. Maybe Mom can order a pizza. She probly won't anyways. Oh well. It's time for a snack so I got to put you away, okay? Bye.

Well, I'm back from snack. Still nobody asked of they wanted to play with me. Why me? My life is so misrable, there's no way out. Why me? Why me? Yeah! My mom is here, gotta go. Bye.

I was just thinking, why should I let a second grader boss me around? They can be bitches sometimes. That's it! No more second graders!

Guess what? I come down to see if Josh would roller skate with me, so we roller skate, and all of a suden Michelle came out on her knees and her hands folded saying, "Will you be my friend? Would you?"

We both stair at her like what happened here, Michelle? We thought that Michelle hated me. Well she did. She even said so. But Michelle thought that I liked Leigh more than her (wich I do). But I said that I like all my friends the same (wich I don't!) Well, I gotta take my shower now. Bye.

I'm nice and clean once again! Thanks to Michelle I can't play with anybody. In other words, I'M PUNISHED FOR PLAYING TOO LATE. Also because I was listening to the TV while doing my homework. I lost Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday of watching TV. Hopefully she'll forget about it.

Guess what? My birthday is this Wednesday! Isn't that exciting? I just can't wait, I'll be 10!