LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): See if you can get your best friend or mate to sit down for a one-on-one early today — you need it! Things might start to get crazy (in a good way) later on, so it has to happen soon.
So glad to reconnect with Gabriel last night. He came by to pick me up for dinner at Martini’s Restaurant, but the nice-to-see-you hug became a little too intense and we never made it. In all the time I’ve lived in my apartment, it’s the first time I’ve resorted to a late-night raid on the McDonald’s down the street.
Tamara called at 11:30 p.m. In tears. I was about to hang up, thinking there was no way I was going to talk her through another round of Andy withdrawal after our blowup on Monday. Then, through her sobs she shared something I rarely heard. “I’m sorry.”
She begged to meet me for coffee first thing this morning and, rather than doing what Nadia would do and making her suffer another week or two, I agreed. 7 a.m. is a heckuva early meeting time. Glad it was at Starbucks. Tamara did another rare thing, offering to pay for my drink. I ordered a venti. (Nadia would at least give me points for that.)
“It’s true. I didn’t want you working with me.”
Not the apology elaboration I was hoping for. Was she that pissed I’d supersized my drink?
But then she continued. “I bitch about work all the time. And it’s just that if you started working there you’d see that I’ve got it pretty good. Maybe even better than that.”
“So what’s wrong with that?” I asked. Tamara had a way of making everything a dilemma.
“Well, it’s just that bitching’s kinda my thing. You know, my schtick. Like Miranda on ‘Sex and the City’.”
“Seriously? You think I’m going to go around correcting you? We both saw ‘Up in the Air’ and I loved it and you totally tore it apart. Did I pipe up and say your trivial criticisms were pointless?”
“Well, no.” And then she smiled. “Not until now.”
“I’ve known you long enough, Tamara, to not jump in when you’re in a rant. How often do I contradict you over anything?”
“You don’t. I’m sorry. I’m really really sorry. I mean it.”
“You must be. I didn’t even know ‘sorry’ was in your vocabulary. Really really sorry? It’s like hell just froze over, pigs flew and Paris Hilton said something profound. Never thought the day would come.”
And all was well again. We hugged. We cried. She promised to personally present my résumé. “It would be fabulous to work with you!” she said.
And she meant it.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
I’M MOVING TO DUNBAR! OK, NOT TO LIVE, BUT TO WORK. HAD TO DO SOME MAJOR FIBBING—SORRY, SIS, I SAID YOU WERE RUSHED TO HOSPITAL AFTER A WRECK THAT TOTALED YOUR CAR—BUT I GOT OUT OF A 9 A.M. MTG TO VIEW A RETAIL SPACE THAT ISN’T DUE TO BE LISTED UNTIL NEXT WEEK. YEAH, IT NEEDS WORK. BUT OPENING OUR REAL ESTATE OFFICE ON DUNBAR PUTS US SMACK IN THE MILLION-DOLLAR-PLUS HUB OF VANCOUVER. LOCATION, LOCATION, LOCATION.
PAPERS WILL TAKE SEVERAL DAYS TO WORK THRU BUT IT’S REALLY HAPPENING. MARTY & I WILL FINALLY RUN OUR OWN SHOW. FEELS LIKE THE 1ST POSITIVE STEP I’VE SEEN IN AGES.