Where did I leave my keys? I have a meeting across town in thirty minutes, and I can’t find my bloody keys.
Perfect. I’m trying to get a promotion, which my boss has made clear will never happen if I’m late one more time. In all fairness though, it’s not my fault that I’ve been late to a few things.
Honestly. Every time I missed the first few minutes of a meeting was for a completely good reason.
Like the time I stopped at the coffee shop to get my morning espresso, but they were out of espresso beans, so I had to go to a coffee shop three blocks away. Not my fault. The coffee shop people should be more on the ball with their ordering. How was I supposed to know they had just hired a new supply manager who didn’t know about my need for a strong shot of espresso in the morning?
Or the time my mom called me right as I was walking out the door. She wanted to talk about my younger brother, James. He’s kind of a rebel. At least that’s what my mom calls someone who decides to take a year after high school to “find himself” or whatever it is he’s doing in Los Angeles. She worries about him way too much, but she thinks that worrying somehow makes her a better mother. I couldn’t just ignore her – she hates talking to my answering machine. She’s convinced I screen her calls.
Which is ridiculous.
I’ve only done that a few times, when I had something really important to do. Like when I had a big presentation that I needed to finish for the next day. Or the night there was an America’s Next Top Model marathon on.
Still no keys. I’m going to buy a key-finder, just like the one in the late-night infomercial. Or maybe I should put a hook into the wall right by my front door so that every time I come home, I put my keys on the hook. That way, every time I want to leave, my keys would be right there.
Except that I used to have a hook like that in my old apartment, and I never actually put my keys there when I got home. Oddly enough, I’ve been in this exact same situation many times before.
I started frantically throwing clothes around the room, hoping that my keys will be under one of the piles of laundry that I have yet to do. Note to self: Do laundry!
The phone starts ringing. I’ll let it go to my answering machine – I have no time to talk. I have to find those freaking keys!
“Gracie? Hi dear, it’s me, Grandma. I was calling to catch up and see how you were doing. I ran into Charles Dannon yesterday – you remember him, right?”
No idea who Charles Dannon is.
“He was the one whose pool you used to swim in during those hot summers in Chicago.”
Still no clue.
“Well, his grandson Nathaniel is in town – I actually met him yesterday too – and he seems like a perfectly nice young man, and I know you’re not seeing anyone right now, so I was thinking – “
Oh no. She always does this. She finds a “perfectly nice young man” who would be “so well suited for me” and she tries to set me up with him. In my grandmother’s mind, being twenty-four and unmarried is basically the same thing as being sixteen and without a driver’s license, or being a Republican without a big bank account – absurd. This’ll be the third time this year that she’s met some old man with a grandson who is “so well suited for me.”
I’ve been on two blind dates that she’s set up for me. They were both awful.
One of the guys, the grandson of a man she plays poker with, was three years younger than me. I’m not usually the type to get hung up on age, but this was different.
He had just turned 21, so drinking in public was a big deal for him. He drank a whole bottle of red wine by himself, and got completely drunk at the restaurant. I couldn’t drive his car home because I can’t drive a stick, so we had to go sit in a coffee shop for three hours until he sobered up enough to drive us home. I did learn everything there is to know about a variety of drinking games including beer pong, flippy cup and something called Beat the Barman. I would have called a cab, but if I had left him there, he would have to drive himself, and although talking to him was excruciating, I didn’t want him to get hurt, so I stayed there with him.
The other man my grandma set me up with had real possibility. He was totally my type – dark hair, green eyes and wore a suit really well. The only problem was that he was a money guy. You know the type – works with money for a living – I think he was an accountant or a stockbroker or something equally boring – and he talked about money through the whole dinner. He actually asked me what the state of my finances was. I couldn’t exactly tell him that I had just over-drafted my account earlier that week, (I’ m not so good with the whole budgeting thing) so I made something up about having a lot of assets. Stupid mistake. He proceeded to question me about my assets through a three course meal. I’m 24 – I have no assets! He wanted to go out for drinks after dinner, but I faked a migraine so he would take me home.
So we’re 0 for 2 now, but I could never tell my grandma that. She gets so excited when she sets me up with these guys, that it would break her heart if I told her they were both duds. So I tell her that the date went well, and then hope she forgets about it. It’s worked so far.
Aha! My keys! Under the couch cushion….how? Never mind, I don’t have time to question it. Okay, grab my coat and I’m ready to go.
“So I gave him your phone number, and he should be calling you sometime soon. I hope that’s ok! Love you dear, see you soon! “
No, it’s not okay. But she’s old, and she tries hard. I can’t wait until I’m old so that I can do whatever I want and people will just say, “Oh its fine, she’s old, so go with it.” I’m totally going to use that excuse all the time.
Maybe this guy won’t be so bad. Maybe he won’t even call. What am I going to say if he does call?
Whatever, I’ll figure it out later. I have to go now!
…..
As I rushed into the coffeehouse, I tripped on a crack and almost ate it right there. For someone with the name Gracie, I was the least graceful person I knew. Luckily, I caught myself before looking like a complete idiot. Damn heels, I swear, whoever invented them hated women.
“Hey Gracie, you want the usual this morning?” Johnny, my coffee guy, greeted me when a smile. Coffee God is more like it. He gets me going every morning with a strong double shot of espresso. If he wasn’t gay, I might have to marry him just so I could save a few bucks on coffee.
“Yeah, thank you so much. You’re amazing. How’s the art class going?” Johnny started taking art classes at the Community College right after Tod, his partner of three years, left him a few months ago. Apparently Johnny wasn’t “culturally homosexual” enough for Todd’s taste. Johnny took that to mean that he needed to be more refined in things like art and musicals, and ever since then it’s been nothing but acrylic painting and Broadway shows. I think he’s secretly hoping Tod will see how sophisticated he’s gotten and come back, but so far, Johnny’s still single. He has gotten pretty good at painting landscapes though, so I guess there really is a silver lining to everything.
“Oh it’s going pretty good. I still have no clue what the difference between high gloss and matte paint is, but hey, its fun and the instructor is a total babe.” This is why I love Johnny – he can say things like “total babe” without something like a complete loser.
“How about you?” How’s the love life? Meet any studs lately?” Studs. Yet another word Johnny can pull off.
“Studs? No,” I said. “Liars, narcissists, and emotionally bankrupt men, yes.”
“I know what you mean,” said Johnny, trying to make me feel better while he fixed my drink. “There are no good men out there! I swear, every guy I meet is either ugly, unemployed or stupid. Here’s your coffee. And Gracie, don’t get discouraged. The right guy is out there somewhere for you, I know it.”
“Thanks, J. The right guy is out there for you too. Maybe someday we’ll both find our Prince Charmings.” I doubt it though.
“That’s the spirit! Don’t work too hard today,” said Johnny.
“Oh, I never do,” I said with a smile. Sad, but true. I’ve never been one to go above and beyond the required workload. I work at a public relations firm where there’s definitely enough work to go around, but my co-workers are all vying for promotions just like I am, and they seem to have the whole “do whatever the boss wants you to do” thing much more efficiently than I do.
Just as I was trying to leave the coffee shop without dripping again, my phone started ringing. After digging through my purse for what seemed like an hour, (Note to self: Clean out purse!) I finally found my phone and checked the caller ID. My sister.
I love m sister, I really do, but we couldn’t be more different. She is classic Type-A personality, and I’m a total B. In fact, I’ve been told I might even be pushing C or D. My older sister, Marie, is amazing at everything she does. She got her undergrad degree in child psychology finished in three years, after graduating high school and starting college a year earlier than all of her peers. She finished her masters by the time she was 23, and decided to take some time off of school before getting her PhD to write a book. A freaking book.
She lives in Westchester with her husband, Josh and their two golden retrievers. She’s one of my best friends, but I can’t help but think that my parents which I was a little (OK, a lot) more like her. She’s always been incredibly focused on whatever she’s doing, and she is always doing something. They’d never say it, of course, but I get the feeling they hope her work ethics will rub off on me.
“Hey Marie, what’s up?” I said, trying not to think about the fact that I was already ten minutes late to my meeting. I’ll just walk and talk. And drink coffee. Yeah right.
“Okay, so I know you’re really busy and all, but do you think you could come over for dinner tonight? Mom’s totally freaking out about James, because, did you hear about this?” Marie likes to ask questions like “did you hear about this,” that you couldn’t possibly answer because you don’t know what she’s about to say. “Apparently he just got a part in a skateboarding commercial, and is saying he wants to stay in L.A.. Like for good. So she’s all upset. Josh is going to grill salmon, and I’m going to make grilled potatoes and onions just like you like.” I hate grilled onions.
“Oh wait, do you think potatoes would be okay for dad, since he’s been trying to cut back on his cholesterol?” I don’t know why he’s making such a big deal about this whole cholesterol thing anyways; he’s in the best shape of any guy his age. Did you know he ran in the marathon last week? He’s fifty-five and he ran a marathon last week. Do you even know how many miles are in a marathon, Gracie? Twenty-six! If Dad can run twenty-six miles, there’s no way he needs to worry about his cholesterol. Anyways, it’d be really good if you could come tonight, does six work for you?” Did I mention that my sister can string twenty-seven ideas into one sentence without taking a single breath? It’s a gift.
“Yeah, I think I can make it,” I said. “Do you want me to bring anything?”
“Nope, just yourself. I’m so glad you’re coming, Gracie. I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.” That’s another thing my sister does – talks in EXTREMES. I saw her last week when I went out for drinks with her after work.
“Okay, well I’ll see you tonight,” I said. I hung up the phone just as I got to my office building. And tripped. Damn heels.
…………..
I work for a PR firm. We mostly handle small companies and emerging entrepreneurs. Technically I’m a copy editor, but since my boss’s secretary quite a few months ago, all I’ve been doing is running errands for him. So basically at this point in my career, I’m a glorified assistant for my jerky boss, Mr. Fritz. (Yes, that is actually his name. I always think of a cartoon character when I hear that name, but whatever.)
I read somewhere that 8 out of 10 people hate their bosses. You’d think that statistic would make me feel better – that I’m not the only one in the world with a boss she hates – but actually it kind of depresses me.
If I was running my own company, I would try to be as good of a boss as I could be so that my employees would love me. I would be tough but fair, and they would always know what I expected from them. That’s the biggest problem with Mr. Fritz. He expects me to read his mind.
Like last week, he came into my “office” (which is actually a cubicle that I like to refer to as my office) and asked me where the Magic Carpet file was. Magic Carpet is a carpet cleaner that my company is working on advertisement for, but personally I think they should call it Crappy Carpet Cleaner because it did NOT get the iced tea stain out of my living room carpet like it promised it would.
He came in and asked me where the file was, and I told him I didn’t have it, that Bill in accounting did.
“Why does Bill have it?” he asked, exhaling with his ever-present voice of condescension. “You were supposed to send it down to the artists to that they could finalize the drawings they want to present at tomorrow’s meeting.”
Okay, there are two things wrong with this picture. Number one, if I was supposed to send it down to the artists, I wouldn’t have the file always, so he should have just asked the artists where the file was. It’s like he assumed I was going to mess up or something. And two, HE NEVER TOLD ME I WAS SUPPOSED TO DO ANYTHING WITH IT! Which is why I gave it to Bill.
My boss seriously sucks.
I would love to find a new job, but unfortunately I don’t have a lot of skills. I never really took school too seriously – I was always the girl that was planning parties for my friends and organizing events for the clubs I was in. Classes, not so much. They just never really interested me that much.
It took me two and a half years to finally settle on my major, which ended up being Latin. Foreign languages have always come pretty easily to me, so it seemed like a good idea at the time. Oddly enough, there’s not a huge job market for people who major in a language that no one speaks anymore.
So I ended up working at this PR firm, which hasn’t been all that bad. I did get to decorate my cubicle however I wanted to. Two Christmases ago we had a decorating contest, and my cubicle won. My theme was “Winter Wonderland” and it vaguely resembled the department store scene in the Will Ferrell movie Elf. I cut up a bunch of pieces of paper to look like snowflakes, and I hung white Christmas lights all around the cubicle.
My snotty coworker Margaret actually had the nerve to ask me to take the flashing ones down. She said they distracted her from her work. As if all of her hour long phone calls were to actual prospective clients and not her boyfriend, who lives in Tennessee. Heaven forbid I distract her from talking to her precious boyfriend. She didn’t even decorate her cubicle!
Just to spite her, I put up twice as many twinkle lights last year, and made sure they all blinked.
….
“Shot through the heart and you’re to blame, darling you give love a bad name.” How can anyone not love Bon Jovi? I love blasting it and singing at the top of my lungs while I drive. I’m driving to my sister’s house for dinner…the dinner with the grilled onions, which according to her, I love. Nobody LOVES grilled onions. People tolerate them because they add flavor, but no one would ever be like, “Hmm I think I want a plate of grilled onions.” Ever.
I love my family, I really do. They’re kind of intense sometimes, but at the end of the day they’re all amazing people. They do, however, all feel the need to bug me incessantly, all about different things.
With my mom, it’s always “Why don’t you do your hair differently? I think you would look so nice with a few highlights around your face. Sherri Thompson’s daughter, Kendra, just got her hair highlighted, and it really brightened up her face. You should talk to her and find out where she gets hers done.” In the 24 years I have been alive, I think the only time my mother liked my hair was when I was three and she was cutting it for me.
My dad is always asking about my finances. He thinks I have no ability whatsoever to reasonably balance a budget.
He’s right.
But for that, I blame him. He never once talked to me about money when I was growing up. He always thought that as kids, we didn’t have to worry about money, so he never told us how much he and my mom made. Nor did they ever give us any kind of a budget. If we wanted something, they bought it. We weren’t spoiled, but we definitely had more stuff than most of our friends.
I never had to worry about money until I got to college, and my dad started sending me a check each month that was supposed to cover that month’s rent, utilities and groceries. Somehow though, by the first week into each month, all the grocery and utilities money was gone and my bank account was in negative numbers. I still don’t know how that happened.
I try to be careful with my money, but it seems like there’s always something that I need to have.
Like when I dropped my cell phone into a sink full of water a couple of months ago. I needed to buy a new one, and they had just come out with a new model, which could hold pictures AND music. It was like having an iPod permanently in your purse. So I could either buy a cheaper phone AND an iPod, or I could just get this phone that was like 2-in-1. It was a total no-brainer. I was even going to use it when I worked out at the gym.
Except that I never actually went to the gym. I signed up for the year-long contract because it ultimately saved me $283 dollars over a year’s time. I figured I would go at least four times a week, so the money for the year-long contract was totally practical. I think I figured it to come out to about $3 every time I worked out, which is practically nothing. Plus, you can’t put a price on good health.
But when I went the first time, everyone there had perfect bodies, and I was way too self conscious to work out in front of them. Now I just run in my neighborhood.
When I have the time. Which hasn’t been too often lately.
So I never used the phone as an iPod, and I never went to the gym. My dad reminds me of those two things every time I say I don’t waste money. He’s a super saver. He was always really generous with us, but somehow he has tons of money now. Go figure.
My brother’s the only one who doesn’t bug me about being different than him. People are always bugging him to change, so he gets that I don’t like to be hassled. According to my parents, he’s not living up to his full genius potential. He’s actually a genius.
Seriously.
He was tested when he was little, and apparently he’s brilliant, which I’m thinking is both a blessing and a curse. It’s a blessing because he can do insane math problems in my head without even flinching (not that that’s an incredibly useful everyday skill, but still, it’d be nice to know how to do) but it’s a curse because everyone expects him to go into something super challenging and change the world. He hates school.
My dad always wanted a doctor, a lawyer and a businessman in the family. Three kids, three professional careers, it was the perfect plan. He’s getting a doctor out of Marie. I guess technically I’m a professional businesswoman (ha) but James does NOT want to be a lawyer. Growing up in a household with a dad who’s a lawyer, he realized early on that he wanted a less stressful career, and he’s been making that clear to everyone since he was a teenager. He still is a teenager, I guess, technically. He’ll be 20 next month. God, I have to remember to get him a gift.
He’s out in California trying to establish himself as an actor-slash-model, because apparently these days you have to be more than just one thing. According to him, the most prominent people in show business have at least two slashes in their titles. He was just going to be an actor, but in order to get a slash into his job description, he’s recently taken an interest in modeling.
That’s another thing about my family – everyone is ridiculously good looking. My sister is often mistaken for someone famous; she has huge bright blue eyes, long blonde hair and a nearly perfect body. My brother looks like he could have been an extra on the set of Troy. Both of my parents are also extremely attractive. My mom has blonde hair and big brown doe eyes, while my dad has jet black hair and bright green eyes. Everyone is tan. Its weird how good looking they are.
Me, not so much. It’s not that I’m bad looking – I’m just more ordinary looking. I would never be mistaken for a model or anything. But I’m not one of those girls with a warped perception of myself; I know what outfits make me look good, and which ones I couldn’t ever pull off. I’ve developed a very particular routine for my hair and makeup, and on most days, I’m fairly confident in the looks department.
Despite my mother’s constant urgings, I usually just straighten my naturally wavy dark brown hair, and I haven’t ever dyed it. That’s way too much work – going to the salon every two or three months to get your roots touched up. Not to mention it’s too expensive.
Oookay, so another dinner with my family. I’m actually kind of excited to see them. It’ll be good. Everyone’ll be too busy focusing on James and his life choices to pay attention to mine. Hopefully.
“It’s my life and it’s now or never. I ain’t gonna live forever. I just wanna live while I’m alive, cause it’s my life.” I’m singing this at the top of my lungs as I pull into my sister’s driveway. Seriously, I love Bon Jovi.
….
Pulling into my sister’s house always makes me feel just a little bit insignificant. I have a nice apartment, but it’s nothing compared to her house. She is living in every little girl’s dream house….white house, blue shutters, big grassy yard, 3 car garage, and a swimming pool. Who in the hell has a swimming pool in New York? My sister does. Every house in her neighborhood shares a gardening service, so all of the front lawns are cut into exactly the same pattern. Personally, I think it looks a little bit like a generic golf course, but apparently grass height is a big deal in Westchester.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my apartment. It’s a two bedroom in the middle of the city that, thank God, is rent controlled. I could never afford to live in it if it wasn’t. I have a great entertainment center, and my kitchen is cute and bright. There are a bunch of windows overlooking the city, which is great.
My favorite part of the whole apartment though, is my front door. It’s frosted glass and I love it. I think it’s really elegant. And although it doesn’t actually fit with the rest of my apartment, I don’t care; I love it. None of my furniture really matches either. I have two hugely overstuffed couches that are pretty ugly but insanely comfortable. My curtains are blue and green pinstripes, which I know sounds horrible, but they are actually really cute.
My mother hates them.
I parked the car and as I started walking up to the front door, my mother came running out to greet me.
“Hi honey! How was the drive out here? Are you hungry? Marie has some great appetizers out – she picked up some of the spinach and artichoke dip on her way home from work. Do you want something to drink? A glass of white wine? Your dad’s been trying to drink more red wine, because apparently it’s good for your cholesterol, but personally I can’t stand the stuff. I’ll take a glass of White Zinfandel over a red wine any day. Do you like red wine, I can’t remember. Well either way, your father’s going to try to get you to drink some before the night’s over, I promise you that.”
This was all before we hit the front door.
“Yeah, white wine would be great, Mom.” I said. “Thanks.”
Keep the wine coming.
“So tell me all about work and how it’s going. Oh Grace, you didn’t go see my hairdresser, did you? You really should think about doing that – she’s a lifesaver.”
Thank you mother.
“Work’s fine. We’re working on a campaign for a carpet cleaner right now. I actually brought you guys some samples.” I take the samples out of my purse and set them on the table.
“Ooooooh this looks great! Thank you so much honey! So how is everything else going?”
“Everything’s fine. I’ve just been helping Courtney with wedding plans. Everything’s pretty set, and she’s getting really excited, so that’s good.”
Courtney is my best friend. We met on the first day of high school in freshman English class when we were partnered together to do a report on Beowulf. Neither of us had read the book over the summer like we were supposed to, so we BS’ed our way through the whole thing. We got a D on the project, but we became best friends, and have been ever since. She’s getting married in a few weeks to David, her college boyfriend. He’s really awesome, and he has the coolest hair of anyone that I know. It’s blonde and curly and he’s pretty hot. They are going to have really pretty babies someday.
“That’s great, hon. So is anything else new with you? Grandma mentioned she gave your number to someone…did he call yet?”
“No, Mom. He hasn’t called yet. And frankly, I don’t care if he does. Why does she keep trying to set me up with people? Just because two people are around the same age does NOT mean they will be compatible. Every time I see her, it’s ‘Oh Gracie I met the perfect man for you. He’s tall and nice and comes with his very own trust fund.’ My God. What is wrong with being 24 and single?”
“What’s so horrible about being 24 and married?” My sister breezed into the room holding a plate of uncooked salmon, which I assume is going to be our dinner, along with the grilled onions that I apparently love. “Or at least dating someone with marriage potential?”
“Hey Marie.” I gave her a big hug. I really miss my sister when I don’t see her. “I was just telling Mom her that there’s nothing wrong with not having a lifelong partner at the ripe old age of 24.”
“But Gracie, all your friends are either engaged or married. Everyone else is starting to settle down. Why don’t you want the same thing?” Marie started chopping the potatoes and the infamous onions that I am sure will soon be grilled up and piled onto my plate.
“It’s not that I don’t want to get married. I would love to be dating someone.” Not exactly the truth. My last relationship didn’t end so well, and I’ve been a little scarred ever since.
“It’s not like I can just go out to the store and pick up a guy to bring home with me. There has to be something special there – a spark. You can’t manufacture something like that, and so far, none of the men I’ve met have delivered.”
“You know what your problem is, Grace?” Marie asked, clearly ready to give the answer. “You’re way too picky.”
“That’s not true,” I protested, already knowing that she has at least twelve examples ready to be thrown at me which will prove that, in fact, I am too picky.
“Yes it is. Remember in junior high, when Thomas what’s his name wanted you to go to the spring dance with him, but you wouldn’t go because he was only one inch taller than you?”
“He has the classic short-man complex,” I said. “No one wants to date a guy with the short man complex.”
“He was twelve years old! Of course he was short! Okay then, what about in 11th grade when Eddie Mastan asked you out every week for the whole year, but you kept making up excuses why you couldn’t go? Why didn’t you want to go out with him? I can’t remember….” She said. But she didn’t forget. She knew why I wouldn’t date Eddie Mastan, and she was trying to prove a point.
“He had a chihuaua, okay? An awful, tiny, yappy, annoying little chihuaua that hated me and tried to bite me once. That’s why I wouldn’t date him. Which if you ask me is a perfectly good reason not to date someone. A person’s pet reveals a lot about them!” I was on a roll now.
“His pet revealed that he was a whiny, insecure, nearly homosexual guy who liked to dress up his scrawny dog in outfits that no human being should ever be subjected to wearing, much less an animal. And he drove a truck. So there you go, that’s why I didn’t want to date Eddie Mastan in the 11th grade.”
“And Brad Coleman? Didn’t you break up with him because he sang in his sleep or something weird like that?” My sister chose to chime in with that.
“Actually, he talked in his sleep. He kept me up all night talking incoherently about random things – it was actually pretty creepy. That never would have lasted anyway…do you remember the time he came to dinner over here? He didn’t say a word the whole time he was here, but then the second we got back to my apartment and he fell asleep, he wouldn’t shut up. I couldn’t handle it.”
“Well if you want my opinion, I still think you should have tried to fix things up with Jesse,” my mother said, sighing. “You had such a future with him. I don’t understand why you couldn’t work things out. I mean, your father loved him, and he got along with the whole family. He had a good job, he wanted children, and he even had a house in Connecticut! So far as I know, he didn’t drive a truck, or talk in his sleep, and he was certainly taller than you. Honestly Gracie, why don’t you give him a call? I’m sure he would love to hear from you.”
My mother has no idea that the reason Jesse and I broke up was because he had been sleeping with one of his co-workers, one from his “good job.” I found out six weeks after it happened the first time. When I confronted him, he pretended like he was upset that I knew, but I know he wasn’t. He wanted me to find out. He wanted me to end things so that he wouldn’t have to. He wanted to be with her.
We didn’t have that classic scene you so often see in movies after someone is outed for cheating. No shoes were hurled across the room, I didn’t throw clothes out of the 2nd floor window, and I didn’t even cry in front of him. We had been together for a year and a half, and it just ended one day.
Since then, I haven’t really dated much. Well, unless you count the two disastrous dates my grandma set me up on and the one blind date with Courtney’s cousin that was horrendous. It’s not that I don’t want to date and find love. But when you get your heart broken like I did, it’s not easy to just pick up right where you left off.
“Well I didn’t like him,” said Marie. She’s the only one in my family who knows what really happened with Jesse. That’s the thing about my sister – I can tell her anything because she’s incredibly supportive. When the whole thing with Jesse went down, she offered to go over to his apartment and “kick the living crap out of him.” The fact that he’s 6’2” and plays for the local hockey team didn’t bother her. She’s loyal to a fault, and if I had let her, she should have actually tried to beat him up. Not that I wouldn’t have loved to have seen that, but I thought it would be in everyone’s best interest if she didn’t confront him. So she got me drunk instead. I have never drunk as much tequila as I did that night, and I never will again. That’s another thing my sister’s great at – she makes a kick ass margarita.
Since I didn’t tell the rest of my family why Jesse and I broke up, they still think he’s a great guy and that I’m just afraid of commitment. I’d rather have them think that than have them know the truth; my parents get really worried about me whenever I break up with a guy, and it’s just easier to let them think that it was because of something I did.
“Gracie, welcome home honey! Oh my gosh, we’ve missed you so much! Come here and give me a hug,” My dad enters the room at just the right time. He always seems to have a sixth sense about when I need rescuing from a conversation about my love life. My dad is amazing in every sense of the word. Well, other than the fact that he thinks I’m useless with a budget, but whatever. He seriously is the smartest, kindest, most respectable person I’ve ever met. He gets along with everyone, which is a seriously noble quality, especially considering some of the people my sister and I have brought home throughout the years.
“How’s work going? How was your trip out here? Was the drive too long? How was traffic? Are you tired? Oh it’s just so good to see you!” Just like the rest of my family, he’s always full of questions and love.
“The drive was good, no problem at all. Work’s pretty good, except that I have a huge presentation tomorrow which I’m really nervous for, but I’ll tell you more about that at dinner. How are you? How’s the running going? Marie told me you ran in the marathon last weekend – how’d you do?”
“Oh, well you know, I did okay for an old guy.” My dad is always referring to himself as old, even though he still works out more than I do, and he looks much younger than his fifty-six years.
“GRAAAAAAAAAACE!” That’s my brother-in-law Josh, as he comes bounding into the kitchen, arms open for a hug. He’s a huge goofball, and he is the only person in the family who shares my affinity for Will Ferrell and Chris Farley. We spend most of our time together quoting random movies, which drives my mother insane since she doesn’t get any of the references.
“Gracie I missed you! How come you go out with Marie but you never come to hang out with me and the dogs? We miss you when you don’t visit.” He says that, but I know he’s secretly grateful for the occasional night with his Xbox and Madden game.
“Sorry dude, but I’m fully employed now, I have responsibilities. And you KNOW I never shirk out on my responsibilities,” I say with a laugh. “You could come visit me in the city too, you know. You all could.”
“You know we wish we could come into the city more, but work has kept your father and I both incredibly busy lately,” my mom defends herself.
“Uh huh, a likely excuse,” I say with a smile on my face. I know my parents hate the drive into the city, but I love torturing them with the fact that it’s always driving me to see them.
….
On the drive home that night, I replayed the conversation I had had with my mother over and over again in my head. DID I find things wrong with men just so I could avoid getting hurt? I had done it time and again since the seventh grade.
Other than Jesse, I have only had two serious relationships. I was with Jordan for three years, during the last year of high school and into college. That was fun, but ended when he realized that his dream of becoming the next US President didn’t really leave much time for a serious girlfriend. He was constantly on the go, working on random local political campaigns trying to change the world. I admired his drive and passion for politics, until one night he drunkenly confessed that he thought that Bill Clinton was the best leader in the history of the world. Not the United States. The world. Things rapidly disintegrated from there.
After Jordan, I didn’t date much until my senior year of college, when I met Chris. Chris was the ultimate bad boy, which at 21, was the ultimate turn on. We met at a bar in Times Square on New Year’s Eve. He was wearing a black leather jacket and a smile that said, “I’m trouble, but I promise it’ll be worth it if you can work up the courage to talk to someone as hot as me.” I did work up the courage after 3 vodka martinis, and we ended up hitting it off. We had a pretty tumultuous relationship from the beginning. After being with someone as straight-laced as Jordan for so long, I loved the thrill of being with a guy like Chris, who had charisma and attitude to burn. He was an “aspiring musician” which I later figured out was code for “out of work, brooding, and totally broke.”
One night, I invited him over to my apartment for dinner. About twenty minutes before he was supposed to get there, I called him to ask if he could pick up an onion for me (I needed it for the recipe but I didn’t often cook, so I didn’t have fresh veggies just laying around the house.) He said he couldn’t pick up an onion, and when I asked him why, he said he couldn’t afford it. I laughed and said, “Okay right…see you soon!” He showed up to my apartment without an onion, and told me without even a hint of a smile on his face that he really couldn’t afford an onion. He was completely broke. An onion costs about 64 cents. The man didn’t have 64 cents with which to purchase an onion.
Chris told me that night that as soon as he got his big break, he would buy me all the onions I wanted…his big record deal was “just around the corner.” The only flaw in the plan was that he wasn’t any good. I know music is subjective, blah blah blah, but really. He was not good. I realized that night that his problem wasn’t that he was just misunderstood by music critics; his problem was that he had no logical plan or drive to get him to where he wanted to be. We broke up shortly after the onion incident.
I took a cultural anthropology class in college, and one of the things we learned about was patterns and habits of men and women in relationships. The professor told us stories about other cultures where the men pursued the women with all their might, but the women denied the men because they didn’t quite fit their standards of what a life partner could be. Perfectly good men, cast aside by women with ideals that men could never live up to. Was I one of those women?
According to my anthropology professor, these women always end up alone. For life. Childless and alone. Was I destined to end up like them just because no man had been able to live up to my idea of perfection?
I pondered that question for about seven seconds, before I snapped out of it. Of course I wasn’t destined to end up childless and alone, because I, unlike those ancient (and may I add, now DEAD) women, I’m not looking for perfection. I’m just looking for someone who will take me on picnics once in a while, and who will squeeze my hand tightly as we’re climbing up the hill on a roller coaster. Somebody who will sing to me even if his voice is horrible and someone who knows how I like to be hugged. None of those things are asking for too much, so of course I won’t end up alone.
Now I just had to convince my mother of that fact…
….
When I got home, I threw my keys onto the kitchen counter and grabbed a bag of popcorn and popped it into the microwave and turned on the TV. Oooh, the end of “Elvis and Me” was on…it’s one of my favorite movies! It’s basically the story of Elvis, except that it’s told through Priscilla’s eyes. Totally genius. Then I checked my messages.
“Hey Grace, this is Nathaniel. Nathaniel Dannon. Your grandma gave me your number…apparently she knows my grandfather, Charles Dannon. Anyways, I met her the other night, and she mentioned that you live here in the city, and since I don’t know anyone here yet, she thought you might be able to show me around a little. I’m still looking for an apartment, so for now I’m staying at The Jameson. I’ll be here until Sunday evening, and I’d love to get together for coffee or a drink sometime. You can call me back whenever you get a chance and hopefully we can set something up. Oh and I’m in room 429. Talk to you soon. Bye.
So he actually called. I guess I should call him back – plus he sounded nice in his message. Pretty harmless. I googled the name of the hotel he said he’s staying at, and dialed the number.
“Hello?” A groggy voice answered the phone. Oops, he must have been sleeping. What time is it anyways? It’s only 11:15….lame that he’s asleep.
“Um, hi. Nathaniel? This is Grace, you called me earlier? I just got your message and, I ‘m so sorry, did I wake you up?”
“Oh hey Grace.” His voice perked up a little, which made me feel good. “I just fell asleep watching ‘Elvis and Me’….it’s one of my favorite movies and it was on tonight. I sat down to watch it, and I totally fell asleep. I guess the jet lag hit me a lot harder than I thought it would.”
Okay so I’m already a little bit in love with him. We have the same taste in movies! There’s this quote from the movie High Fidelity (also a favorite of mine) that says “It’s no good pretending that any relationship has a future if your record collections disagree violently or if your favorite films wouldn’t even speak to each other if they met at a party.” How true is that? It’s always been true for me – and this guy likes “Elvis and Me,” which is a movie that only me and approximately three other people on the planet even saw!
“Thanks for calling me back though, how are you?” Nathaniel snapped me back into reality.
“I’m good! I just got back from dinner with my family, and I survived, so that’s good news.” He laughed. He thinks I’m funny!
“I’m really sorry again that I woke you up.”
“Oh, it’s fine,” he reassures me. “I’m glad you called. Are you free on Saturday? I have meetings all day tomorrow, but I’d really love to get out and see the city, and your grandma assured me you’d be a great tour guide.”
“Yeah, my morning’s totally free. Why don’t we meet at the Starbucks on 48th? That’s only a few blocks from your hotel.” Plus I get free espresso because the barista likes me, I want to add, but I don’t want to sound like too much of an addict.
“That sounds great, how about 10?” He asks.
“Sounds like a plan, I’ll see you there! Have a good night, and get back to sleep,” I encouraged him.
“Okay Grace, see you then. Sweet dreams,” he said before he hung up.
I’m glad I called him back. Even if he’s a total dud, I’ll get coffee out of it, AND I’ll get to act like a tourist for the day, something I love doing. Now I just have to figure out what to wear!
….
One thing that my parents hate about my lifestyle is that I take the subway to work every day. I walk to the subway station at 12th, get off at 47th, and get my coffee from the Starbucks at 48th. Then I walk to my office building, which is at 52nd. The whole system has proved to be quite effective in the past.
But Friday morning was not my morning. I couldn’t find my white DKNY shirt, which goes perfectly with my navy blue flippy skirt, so I spent 15 minutes tearing apart my apartment looking for me. After I gave up hope of ever finding it again, I had to find a new outfit to wear, which is never a quick process.
After staring at my closet for 10 minutes, I finally decided on my black skirt that I got from Goodwill two years ago (ghetto, I know, but sometimes they have cute stuff. You just have to look carefully) and my favorite cashmere sweater. It’s short sleeved, and the color is a gorgeous sage green that makes my eyes “pop” according to my mom.
On the way out the door, I realized that I didn’t have my keys, so I spent another five minutes looking for those. I finally found them in my kitchen drawer where I usually keep the utensils. By the time I left my apartment, I was running a grand totally of 15 minutes late, which on any normal day would be okay. But today was the day of my big presentation to the Magic Carpet Company. Today, promptness at work was vital.
But so was my morning espresso.
Tough call.
I could get my coffee, which would make me late to the meeting but give me a burst of energy and therefore allow me to be my charming, sparkling self in front of the clients. Or I could forgo the coffee, which would allow me to be on time, but I am basically useless without a quick shot of caffeine in the morning. Ultimately, I think Mr. Fritz would much rather have me be a little late but win the affections of the clients than he would have me be on time but give a lame presentation.
I’ll get the coffee, but tell Johnny I’m in a huge hurry.
By the time I got to my office, I was only 20 minutes late, which is much better than I thought it would be. I gave myself a mental pat on the back as I downed my espresso. Shit, I burned my tongue. I hate it when that happens!
As I silently congratulated myself on not being too late, Mr. Fritz came stalking toward me, looking really irritated. Uh oh.
“Morning, Mr. Fritz. That is a great tie! You should wear that color more often!” I thought maybe flattery would work on him and he wouldn’t fire me on the spot.
“Where the hell have you been, Grace? You’re nearly thirty minutes late!”
Okay, so he’s mad.
“The craziest thing happened to me on the way to work today, Mr. Fritz. See, I was on my way here, and I was only a few blocks from the building, and I was actually about 40 minutes early. I’ve just been so excited about his presentation today, I wanted to be really prepared and on time, so I left my apartment really early. So I’m standing there, just four blocks from the office, when all of the sudden, an old woman starts crossing the street and almost gets hit by a taxi! I mean, this thing just came flying around the corner and almost took the poor woman out completely. So I leapt in front of her to save her life, and…”
“Stop it now, Grace. I don’t want to hear your preposterous excuses anymore. I am sick of your shenanigans.” Mr. Fritz was really yelling at thispoint. He seemed madder than I’ve ever seen him before. And he didn’t even let me finish my story!
I guess it’s just as well, I didn’t have a clue where I was going with it anyway.
“Your work is not quality enough to cover for your constant tardiness anymore. I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to let you go. I simply can’t justify keeping a lackluster employee on staff anymore.”
“What about the carpet presentation?” I asked him, shocked and incredibly embarrassed. Everyone is looking. “I’ve been the point person on that from the beginning. I need to at least do the presentation. Please, I KNOW I can impress them.”
“It’s too late – Bill is already in there. He was early, so I gave him the pitch. You really messed up this time, Grace. I’ll have Carlos from HR come talk to you in a few minutes about your severance package. I’d like today to be your last day. I’m sorry.” He didn’t sound sorry. Not even a little sorry. In fact, he seemed a little too happy to have me gone. How incredibly rude!
I’ve never been fired form a job before! Even when I worked at the Burger Barn in high school and I started four grease fires on four separate occasions, they didn’t fire me! FIRED?!?? What was I going to do now?
….
COURT, 911 SOS. MEET ME AT THE STARBUCKS ON 56TH IN 20 MINUTES. IT’S AN EMERGENCY!!
….
Fifteen minutes later, I was sitting in Starbucks gulping down my third double espresso of the day, waiting for Courtney. She rushed in through the door and immediately came running towards me.
“Oh my God Grace, what is wrong? I got your text during the middle of breakfast with David’s mom. I just left her sitting there in the restaurant. What the hell is going on? Are you okay? And how many coffees have you had today?” She’s going to make a great mother someday.
“I got fired! I was late because I couldn’t find the flippy skirt so I had to re-coordinate my whole ensemble, and I had to look good because today was the presentation for the shitty carpet cleaner, which I didn’t even get to do because stupid Bill was on time, and then I needed coffee, and what am I going to do?” I was nearly frantic at this point.
“Well first of all, I would put this down.” Courtney took the coffee from my hands and set it down on the table. “You probably don’t need any more caffeine now. Are you sure you’re fired? Maybe your boss will calm down and reconsider.”
“No, he won’t. He made me clear out my desk and he even made me take my plant with me!” I gestured to the large ficus sitting next to me on the couch. “I’m definitely fired. I bet he’s been dying for this since the day his secretary hired me while he was out on vacation. And I was lucky to even get THAT job. I mean, you know how useless a language degree is. I majored in Latin – I mean, who majors in a language that no one speaks anymore? And sure, I was voted Miss Congeniality of our class in college, but how is that useful at all? I should have studied banking or finance or brain surgery…something with job security and a guaranteed paycheck each week. Why didn’t you make me pick a useful major? Something I could have actually USED in my life. I have basically no marketable skills, and I’ll never get a good recommendation out of Fritz now. Now I’m going to be unemployed, and I’m going to have to give up my apartment and oh my God I’m going to be homeless.”I picked up the espresso and started chugging again. “Court, can I stay with you and David until I get back on my feet? I probably won’t be able to pay you much for rent, but I do make really good milkshakes, and if you let me move in with you, I promise I’ll make you guys milkshakes every night of the week in exchange for a place to sleep. Except you’ll probably have to buy all of the ice cream, milk and chocolate syrup since I won’t be able to afford extras like that once I’m homeless, unemployed and broke. God, I’m pathetic.”
“Whoa, Grace,” Court snaps me out of my self-deprecating rant. “Calm down. Take a breath. And for the love of God, put down the espresso. First of all, you’re not going to be homeless. I know you have enough money in your savings account to cover the next few months of rent, and by the time you run out of that, you’ll have a new, fantastic job. Until you find one, I can definitely get you a job at the store to hold you over for a while.”
I’m starting to calm down a while.
“As far as your career choice, I’m really sorry I didn’t force you into a major that would have bored you out of your mind for four years of school and a 45 year career. That was totally my bad. I think you’re amazingly brave for choosing a major like the one you did – and in a way, it’s really awesome that you don’t have a specific field that you have to be in forever. There are tons of possibilities for you now – you can do whatever you want to! And honestly, you never even really liked your job at that company. You told me yourself, your boss and your coworkers treated you like crap. You’re way too personable and creative to be at a job that keeps you at a desk all day long. So far as your apartment goes, you have some money saved up, so you should be able to swing rent for a few months until you find another job – which you WILL do. You are an incredibly talented, smart, funny, personable girl and you will absolutely find another job that will be even better than the one you just left, which, if I can remember correctly, you didn’t even love to begin with. Maybe this is a good thing – you can start a whole new career if you want to. You’re not limited to being Fritz’s go-to girl. You’ll never have to pick up that man’s dry-cleaning again, or buy his wife a birthday card because he forgot to do it. You’ll never have to take his dog to the vet again, and you’ll never have to sit there and try to co me up with a slogan for a carpet cleaner that, I’m sorry, does NOT get out all stains. This is a great thing! You never liked sitting behind a desk – you’re way too creative for that. Grace, this could be the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”
This is why I love her. She can take the most stressful situation I’ve ever been in and turn it into something that could actually be considered good. Everything’s going to be okay. I’m going to work at Courtney’s store, and I’ll totally be able to make rent, and then I’ll live happily ever after.
