6.23.2005

Cyclone. Since my last post, the following has occured:

1) I quit my job.
2) I took another job.
3) I have planted 32 pots with flowers.

Capsulated, in quitting, I felt as if I was dumping a steady, hometown boyfriend for the guy with the motorcycle. I had been surrounded by mature, plainly dressed people with many-times-over-practiced work tactics. Ahem.

I am now surrounded by the cast of the O.C. in both beauty and age. I mean, its amazing, there is a woman who is so unspeakably cute with her wavy brown hair and freckles its sickening. Like eating the icing-roses off a storebought cake.

By coffee machine:

Before: "Well, I tell ya, Timmy went and stuck GI Joe up his nose again, so Ralph and I had to get out of bed to take him in..."

Now: [raspy, giggling] "O.M.G. you guys, I dont know how I got home last night!"

It would appear that with the exception of a few nights out here and there, I've been operating in a social vaccum for quite some time. And like Rip Van Winkle, I am forced to resurface and find I'm at least a decade older than a lot of my coworkers. Ten years. 1 0.

What I didnt expect was the impact this shift would have on my psyche. I'm becoming oddly competitive. I find myself scanning my closet in the morning for choicest office attire. I talk about shopping more than I usually would. I keep my voice down in meetings. I'm turning cheezy. Unbelieveably Banana Republic cheezy.

The second week here, I was working late and was asked by two super-pretty account executives to go have a drink with them. The popular girls. It was like I'd made it to the next round of the Kappa rush party. At first I declined, too aware of the need for a work-out and to see cute husband.. but then rushed back, accepting. Why not? I thought.

"Are you nearly ready?" The two of them stood behind my chair, smiling sweetly.

With our purses over our shoulders, we all talked about how glad we were the day was over, and how ridiculous it was to out for drinks on a Tuesday. I emphatically agreed, while silently recalling how my best late night performances in NYC seemed to occur on Mondays, armed by my two braniac, hilarious and stunning girlfriends. Who would never shop at BR.

Our trendy offices are smack on the inner harbor, so we poured out into the summer heat and click-clacked in our heels along the pier to our closeby locale. I glanced at my reflection-- I had on a businessy pin-striped skirt on with a top that didnt match and cotton-candy hair. I, too, put on my hip sunglasses.

We sat at the corner of the bar, the two of them side by side and me on the other side. I turned and looked at them as they said welcoming things such as: "Feel free to say whatever you want about anyone, we can give you the real profile." When they spoke their white teeth dazzled, lip gloss shimmered and skin just flawless. Shiny hair behaving. New-pant legs were crossed. I felt like an alien.

After hoovering down two drinks, I slid off my stool and went home. I found aforementioned cute husband up on our now-flowery deck and I cracked up while telling him about my evening. At that point, Scott set me straight with a simple, stoic "My god."

My god is right. Yes, I am not plum outta school and my god, I never liked Banana Republic.

Last night our little Sobo community had a summer concert. Scott and I headed to the pretty park with our old doggy & two chairs. Passing two rednecks seated on a bench, one called out, "Hey! You know this band that's playin'?" We stopped and replied that no, we didn't. And then, emphatically, "Aaaaoooh, I heard its a speed metal band!" Ahhh, variety. Its nice to be home at the end of the day. Oh, and it wasnt speed metal. They performed Jethro Tull covers.