ALL DOLLED UP AND NOWHERE TO GO

January 23, 2010

LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You get it the first time around, but others may not be so speedy. Slow down.

Laura’s Log:
So glad it’s the weekend. The last few haven’t been so great, but anything is better than being in the office—all that military maneuvering as everyone knows all-out war will break out at any moment. Ann-Marie and the girls made a point of talking loudly about the whole gang going for drinks after work Friday. The whole gang except me. Who’s harassing who?

Unfortunately, Ernesto doesn’t seem to get it. He thinks his job is totally safe. Doesn’t have a reflective bone in his body. Can’t seem to recall a single incident that would’ve incited the masses. Lewd looks at the girls’ cleavage? Hey, the eyes gotta go somewhere, right? Two eyes, two breasts…a natural balance. Watching porn in his office over lunch? It’s only the sounds people hear. So discreet. Brushing up against the girls in the break room, repeatedly asking their bra sizes “just as a conversation starter”? To call the man thick would only lead to a detailed description of the girth of a particular body part. The man is toast. Just don’t see how I got dragged into the mess.

Friday night was time to bond with Tupper. After twenty minutes of incessant tummy rub demands, he napped the rest of the evening. Isn’t that how he spent the whole day? Apparently I’m that much of a bore.

It’s been fifteen weeks since my last date, not that I’m counting. (The unfortunate incident last week with Jeremy Welles doesn’t count. Apparently, I was the only one who thought it was a date.) No prospects. Dodger is too young, isn’t he? Who am I kidding? I’d jump at the chance to go out with him—even if it meant an entire evening playing Grand Theft Auto. (Perhaps video violence leads to aggressive foreplay.)

I should be happy that Nadia and Tamara have both passed the one-month marker with their new guys. Yes, I am thrilled. They’re all on safari in the Serengeti, aren’t they? How else to explain the utter lack of communication? You can’t shag 24/7…can you? Fired off bitter emails to each of them on Wednesday, demanding an evening out like old times. Nadia managed to fit in a shagging break to send a curt reply: “How can you be so unsupportive? You just want my relationship with Bradley to fail, don’t you?” Oh, god. Walked right into a minefield with that one. No word at all from Tamara. I’m assuming there could be poor Internet connections on the savannah. How is it that they’ve forgotten how lonely it can be to be single?

Mom is insisting I come over tonight, maybe even drop in early for Knitting Club. “It’s all about connecting, dear. Betty Ng’s son is back from Toronto. Just got laid off AND dumped!” Ooh, now that’s exciting.

I’m out of excuses to avoid an evening spent hearing how my posture, my pores and the three grey hairs I can’t see at the back of my head are the cause for me being hopelessly single. That and all the coffee. Teeth could be so much whiter.

Yes, hurray for the weekend.

KEN’S JOURNAL (via iPhone):
SHE CALLED THE COPS ON ME! FRIDAY NIGHT AND THERE ARE GANGS SHOOTING EACH OTHER UP, HOMELESS FOLKS HUDDLED IN NOOKS AND CRANNIES FARTHER AND FARTHER AWAY FROM OLYMPIC CENTRALE AND THE POLICE HAVE TIME TO COME INVESTIGATE THE CASE OF THE SCALPED BARBIES.

“THOSE DOLLS COST HUNDREDS OF DOLLARS. THEY’RE COLLECTIBLES!” BESS SCREECHED, FIRST TO ME, THEN TO A BEWILDERED, BURLY OFFICER SAUNDERS. “THEY HAVE NO VALUE NOW.”

IF THEY WERE SO IMPORTANT, WHY DID CLARA LEAVE THEM IN MY CONDO FOR THREE MONTHS AFTER DUMPING ME AND RUNNING OFF TO JAKARTA RIGHT AFTER READING THAT INSIPID EAT PRAY LOVE? ONE OF HER MANY PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE STUNTS. LEAVE TWO DOZEN FREAKISHLY WHITE DOLLS TO STARE AT ME AND ANY DATE I CAN CONVINCE TO COME UP FOR COFFEE. WHO’S THE SADISTIC ONE? I SHOULD HAVE PAWNED THE WHOLE SET AND USED THE PROFITS TO BUY A USED GREEN DAY CD.

OFFICER SAUNDERS WISELY SUGGESTED THIS WLD BE A CIVIL COURT MATTER, IF ANYTHING. AND THE WHOLE THING WLD BE CLARA’S ISSUE, NOT BESS’. IN OTHER WORDS, MYOFB!

BESS REMAINED IN A RAGE. WANTED TO CALL CLARA, BUT GO FIGURE, HAD NO IDEA HOW TO REACH HER. “DON’T YOU GET IT?” I PRODDED. “SHE DIDN’T JUST DUMP ME. SHE DUMPED ALL OF US.” BESS FLASHED ME ONE OF HER PATENTED SNEERS BUT WENT ABOUT THE REST OF THE DE-CLARAFYING PROCESS IN POUTY SILENCE. THANK GOD.

DATE TONITE W/DEE DEE, THE FLORIST. DO YOU BUY A FLORIST FLOWERS OR WILL SHE BE UPSET THAT I GOT THEM FROM A COMPETITOR? WILL SHE READ TOO MUCH (OR TOO LITTLE) INTO THE PARTICULAR FLOWERS? WHAT DO TULIPS MEAN ANYWAY? AH, IT’S A FIRST DATE. I’M PAYING FOR DINNER, THAT’S ENUF.

CHOCOLATE AND LITTLE ARM FLOATIES

January 20, 2010

LIBRA HOROSCOPE: Your nicely balanced routine goes out the window. Don t stress – it’s temporary.

Laura’s Log:
If only it had been a dream. I awoke at 3:36 a.m., vomit all over my pajama top. Hmm, not my vomit. Tupper’s! Oh, Tupper what have you done? With a light on, I see that the sheets have taken a hit too. Damn it stinks! I create a trough with the bottom of my top and the goo slides down. Must fight reflex to upchuck, too. I strip in the bathtub and go back to pull the sheets. Sure wish I had a washer/dryer in my apartment.

More heaving sounds. No, Tupper! No! Oh, why did he have to jump on the sofa for the next round? I barricade the little pooch in the kitchen, the fallen chair making him apprehensive. Sofa cushion to the tub. Quick rinse time: fabric, sheets, me.

I finally discover the evidence on the floor beside the dining table: an empty box of Purdy’s chocolates. It was my thank you gift from Ernesto for working all day Sunday—would have preferred a token raise or dinner (not with him, of course). In a remarkable sign of restraint, I only ate one truffle (with Kahlua!) last night. Somehow Tupper, the little dog with weak legs, transformed into mountain goat in the wee hours, apparently climbing a chair and then reaching the treasure at the apex.

Dogs and chocolate. Not good, right? Deadly?!

I toss on a sweatshirt and jeans. Time for another (expensive) trip to the 24-hour emergency animal hospital. Should brush my hair in case it’s that quasi-dreamy Dr. Richard again. (No match for the studs of “Grey’s Anatomy”, but real. And rich, no? I mean, how many other dogs discover chocolate as a midnight snack?)

Alas. It’s Dr. Stella, the lesbian who keeps sneaking glances at me. I could match her up with my sister, if only she’d drop that militant Carl(a).

Apparently the key thing to do with a dog that eats chocolate is induce vomiting. Been there, done that. But good to get the $275 professional take on it. Tupper will be fine. My Visa is another matter. Again, Ernesto, a raise would be so much better than one piddly truffle.

Will show up a half hour late for work this morning. Yeah, mom, I learned that passive aggressiveness from you.

Okay, ten minutes.



KEN’S JOURNAL (via Blackberry):
UP AN HOUR EARLY. HAVE TO FLY TO VICTORIA. WLD RATHER TAKE FERRY, BUT BOSS WANTS ME BACK FOR 1:00 MTG. GOD, I HATE FLOAT PLANES. WLD FEEL BETTER IF WE ALL WORE LIFE JACKETS WHOLE TRIP. WLD FEEL BETTER IF THEY MADE US STRAP ON FLOTATION DEVICES ON ALL FLIGHTS. HAVE THOSE OXYGEN MASKS DOWN AND READY, TOO. BUT, NO, THE HONCHOS ARE TOO BUSY CHECKING OUR SHOES AND CONFISCATING MY HAND CREAM. (NOTE TO SELF: MUST BUY GLOVES. AND NOT THOSE SILLY RED OLYMPIC MITTS THAT LET YOU CLAP LIKE A SEAL.)

MTG IN VICTORIA IS W/VICTORIA. YEAH, VICTORIA IN VICTORIA—NOVELTY HAS WORN OFF. GOOD THAT IT’S AN A.M. THING. DON’T WANT ANOTHER AWKWARD SESSION @ BAR W/HER. MOST AGGRESSIVE FLIRTER EVER. SEXUAL PREDATOR, REALLY. WE’RE NEVER DOING IT AGAIN. IT’S HER MARRIAGE, NOT MINE, BUT FEELS SLEAZY—EVEN TO ME. FIVE TIMES—OR IS IT SIX?—IS ENOUGH.

HEAVYSET COUPLE JOINING ME ON FLIGHT. WILL THAT AFFECT LIFTOFF? THEY HAVE A BABY, TOO. “HE’S COLICKY,” SHE SAYS. GREAT.

BOSS OWES ME. BIG TIME.