Party with a Clutz

Some time in the 80s Lori and Celeste were invited to a formal Christmas party. They were told that is would be really formal, not Santa Cruz formal. There weren’t going to know anybody but the hostess. They decided that would make the party even more fun. With both of them having grown up in Santa Cruz, they felt as if they’d met everyone in town.

Deciding what to wear took Celeste an extremely long time. She didn’t have any really formal clothes. It took trying on at least ten outfits and six or seven calls to Lori to make a choice.

“Lori, what are you going to wear?”

“I’m not sure yet. Do you think that it’ll really be as formal as Julie says it will be?”

“Probably not. I just can’t see something like a Dynasty party here in good ol’ Santa Cruz.”

“I think,” Lori said, “You, we, should just wear something we are comfortable in.”

Celeste finally chose a black sweater dress, with black stockings, and some ruby-red spiked heel that looked like they had been flown in from Oz (except of course, Dorothy’s weren’t spiked). Lori wore a black vintage dress from the 40s, with some wobbly black pumps that were just as old. Around her shoulders she wrapped a sparkling white shawl. Celeste thought they looked good.

As it turned out, they were greatly underdressed. All of the women were clad in long formal dresses made of sequins or silk. The men were either in tuxes or very nice suits. One gentleman was wearing an all-leather suit, and his date wore a bright-blue sequined dress with a neckline down to her navel. To say that they (Celeste and Lori) felt out of place was an understatement.

The apartment had Christmas lights hung outlining the doors and windows. There was mistletoe hung wherever possible. The guests (which were a good ten years older than Celeste and Lori) stood around in small groups chatting. Julie, the hostess, after spotting the girls and swishing over, showered them with hugs and kisses.

“I’m soooooo glad you could make it,” she squealed. “Have some champagne.” It seemed as though she’d had a little too much already. They hugged her back and accepted the champagne and then she hurried off to attend to other guests.

Lori took a sip out of her glass. “Mmmmmm.”

Just then a lady bumped into Lori. Lori’s champagne glass wobbled and its contents spilled down the front of the lady’s white silk dress.

Horrified, Lori said, “I’m so sorry.”

The lady gave her a searing look. “I sure hope this comes out. You know, I just picked this up the cleaners today.”

“I’m really sorry,” Lori said again.

Lori and Celeste quickly found out that most of the guests weren’t friendly. They were too busy drinking and showing off their attire. After an hour of feeling like they had been pasted to the wall Lori said, “Hey Celeste, let’s get out of here and go get a drink at the Crowsnest.”

That sounded fine to Celeste. They went upstairs to get their coats and to say good-bye to Julie, who was also upstairs. Celeste went down the stairs first. Upon reaching the bottom she looked up just in time to see Lori’s 40-year old shoe give out on her.

One minute she was walking gracefully down the stairs and the next her foot had slipped out in front of her and WHAM! She fell flat on her butt and bumped all the way to the bottom. She arrived safely with her skirt wrapped around her thighs. One leg was sticking straight out in front and the other was lost under her body.

The room became dead silent. You could clearly hear the music that had been playing softly in the background. Lori was bright red. She covered her face with her hand, and mumbled something to herself as she straightened her skirt. She stood up and promptly walked out what she thought was the front door, shutting the door behind her, but really was the coat closet.

Celeste ran outside into the clear night just as little titters emerged from the guests. She stood on the lawn and started laughing so hard she couldn’t breathe. Lori came out about 30 seconds later. The laugh she had been holding since she closed herself in the closet game bellowing out. She laughed long and hard as they walked to the car.

“What a clutz!” She screamed as she threw her head back in an exasperated roll.

“Did you see the look on everyone’s faces?” Lori asked.

“Yes! Did you see that lady I spilled the drink on? She had a look like I was the lamest person she’d every been associated with!”

“You are,” Celeste giggled.

“Oh, shut up.” Lori hit her with her purse.

They got in the car and drove to the Crowsnest. Every once in a while one of them would start to laugh as they pictured the whole scene over again.

Upon arriving at the bar, they went upstairs. The bar was packed. “It’s too crowded to stay here.”

Lori nodded her head in agreement. She leaned over and said in Celeste’s ear, “But, lets say I fall down the stairs again?”

“You won’t!” Celeste laughing and rand down the stairs to show Lori how easy it could be.

Lori still couldn’t get the hang of it. WHAM! “Celeste!!! I did it again!”

Once again, Celeste ran out the door laughing.

Together again in the parking lot Celeste said, “Lori, I can’t take you anywhere! First you spill a drink all over a five or six hundred dollar dress, then you fall down a flight of stairs and walk into a closet, and then you fall down another flight of stairs in a bar. You’re hopeless!”

“I am, aren’t I?” Lori grinned sheepishly. “Next time we go out I’ll try not to be such a clutz.”

Until this very day Lori has not fallen down a flight of stairs. She still regularly spills drinks, but mostly on herself. Once a clutz, always a clutz.

I do live

I do. I've just not been writing any thing creative. But, if you want to learn about NetworkPhysics Netsenory products I gots loads of stuff to post. More eventually, I promise.

Fact - Cleaning out the Office Closet

I cleaned out my office closet yesterday. Mostly went through boxes I had packed up four years ago when I got divorced.

I gave the dress I got married in to Goodwill. I looked at it for about a nano-second and realized I had zero feelings about this dress. Now, it wasn't the dress I wore to the reception of my wedding. You see, I had a small wedding that was family and extremely close friends only. It was very casual. But, that night we had a huge formal party and *that* dress is boxed up at my father's. Although I am not sure what will become of it. Who wants to wear a dress from a wedding that has failed. Beautiful dress though. Anyway, I digress.

The dress I got married in I bought the day before the wedding at a store downtown that doesn't even exist any more. It was next to Roberts, which also doesn't exist any more. It is an ivory gauze (sp?) dress that buttons down the front with a simple drawstring waist. I was much thinner then. The fabric is so sheer that the dress came with a slip. The shoes I wore were regular work, clunky, chunky brown heels. Now that I think about it, I must have looked ridiculous! But hey, I was comfortable. I also remember walking down the "aisle" at my dad's house thinking that I felt like I was in a dream. And not neccessarily the right dream. Not a bad dream, mind you. Just not right. The bad part of it came later when I grabbed my friend Stacey at the reception and said, "I think I just made the biggest mistake of my life."

Well, it wasn't really the biggest mistake because I think I learned a lot from it. I learned how *not* to treat a man, I realized marriage is much more work than I ever thought possible and I also learned, that you can't really change people. I also got a kid out of it, so that was fair. And I also got a friend for life, as my ex-husband and I are friends - not super close but reliable if that makes sense. Reliabe in the sense that he already knows the history (if that makes sense!). Even though I don't think he really listens to me when I talk to him....oh well. He works for my father and step-mother, actually buying part of their business. So, he's more like a family member. I don't feel much or any thing toward him in a romantic way (I actually feel like he's a sibling who bugs me), but I do miss the companionship and the familiarity. Strange to write that. I had a brief moment when I remembered what it was like to be with him. A good feeling, even. :)

I also gave away the basket purse that was his ex-wife's (yes, I was his second wife - and he's about have a third). Anyone who grew up by the beach in the 80s probably knows this kind of purse. It is a simple round basket with two leather straps. The straps are long enough to wear as a backpack if you like. I remember the joy and sort of triumph I felt about having that purse and using it. It was kind of like "I know you hate me, but I have your purse." Stupid, I know.

All these thoughts came from one closet. What is going to happen when I tackle the rest of the house?

Prologue: Drunk in the Street

I sat at my desk and thought about how bored I was. I mean I’m 39, divorced, single mom, successful job and bored. Is that right? Is this how I’m supposed to live my life? I don’t think so. So maybe that’s why I was about to post an ad on the Internet looking for a date.

I turned over the pad of paper and stood up from my chair. I smoothed my pants. I fluffed my hair. Coffee, I thought. I’ll get some coffee. I picked up my mug: Mickey Mouse. Nothing like getting all jacked up on caffeine and then trying to find an date online.

I walked past my administrative assistant, who today is wearing the most inappropriate outfit to date. A red t-shirt that is probably a size or two too small with some sort of black bra that you can see peeking out above the plunging neckline. Her skirt, which I saw earlier as she came in, is the don’t-bend-over kind. And the shoes. Jesus, can women really walk in those? The way she presents herself is such a contrast from my own baggy khakis, thick belt, olive green sweater and Dansko clogs. I could be out walking on the beach with my dog and a cup of tea. I look like a model straight out of an Eddie Bauer catalog. That I’ve progressed this far in the corporate world is amazing, if you base my qualifications on my wardrobe. Or the amount of make up I wear, which is none. I hadn’t really changed my style since I was married. Should I change the way I dress and maybe put on some lipstick? I mean, isn’t that the joy of being older? You don’t have to worry about what you look like? But, I guess if Dina were older, she’d always look this way because it’s in her blood. She probably wouldn’t leave the house to run to the store if she didn’t look like woman ready to have sex at any moment. Maybe that’s my problem? I don’t care what I look like any more.

I stopped in front of her desk. “Can I get you some coffee, Dina?” Even I couldn’t keep my eyes of those breasts. Maybe I should become a lesbian?

“No thanks, Gretchen,” Dina said, taking one very long finger with a very red fingernail and pushing a very blonde lock of hair out of her eyes. “Peter just called though. He wants to meet with you later.” She raised her eyebrow at me. I smiled and mentally reminded myself to talk to her about her outfit. I wasn’t sure if talking to her was because I was sort of jealous or because her outfits really aren’t appropriate for this type of environment.

Ah, the break room. How many times have I stood in this stark, windowless room, toasting a bagel, filling a water bottle, getting coffee or standing in front of the vending machine dreaming about pop tarts that cost 95 cents? Great place to procrastinate, the break room. No one was there for the moment. I took my Mickey Mouse mug and put it under the coffee spout and pushed the spigot. The coffee streamed out of the canister. I love the smell, I thought as I took a big whiff.

“Practicing your deep breathing?” A male voice with an English accent said behind me.

I let my finger off the coffee spigot and turned around. Klaus. Yes, his name is really Klaus, and although slightly overweight and very soft, he has the face of an angel, the accent of a British rock star from the 80s, and every woman in the building has a huge crush on him. Doesn’t matter if he’s married, or that some of us are married. We want him. Badly.

“I have a question for you, Gretchen,” he said. “A question that might justify your deep breathing.”

“Shoot.” I said, bracing myself.

“I just talked to QA and they need more time to finish that last feature that Scott wanted in the release. It means we will have to push out the date and probably have to work some weekends. I am not sure I can get upper management to agree to the date change, but I do think we need the feature.”

I stared at him. How can a woman go from the personals on Craig’s List to delivering cutting edge technology on a silly corporate schedule? “I’ll need to talk to Peter and see what he thinks. Can I get back to you on Monday?” I wondered if this was what he wanted to talk to me about.

“Yep,” Klaus said. “But make sure it is first thing on Monday.” He grabbed an apple out of the fruit bowl and walked out of the door. How do these guys know where to find me during the last hour of work on Friday? Is my procrastination in the break room that obvious? Do they ever want me to enjoy my weekend? I walked back to my desk. Dina was on the phone talking about some bar she was going to for Cinco de Mayo. I smiled at her. She smiled at me and kept talking. Dang, I thought, I am one cool boss. Keep that shirt on, I thought, and it will be quite a night for you, little Dina.

I sat back down at my desk. I took a sip of my coffee and turned my pad of paper over. I quickly wrote, “Sexy, charming, witty, intelligent, some what bored, yet woman seeks man to exchange intellectual banter.” Perfect. No one needs to know I’m really “potentially” sexy, or “I-used-to-be” sexy. I turned to the computer. I moved my cursor to the bookmark menu and pulled up Craig’s List. I thought about selecting Chicago, because that was at least 1000 miles away and I would never meet this person but I sighed and selected my own geographical area clicked a few more times and voila, my ad was posted on Craig’s List.

Dina stood in the doorway. I marveled again how she could walk in those shoes. And how the definition of her quadriceps made a nice line up the middle of her thigh. “You should come out with me one night Gretchen. I know you are a lot older than me, but you might have fun totally letting loose for one night.”

I instantly pasted a smile on my lips. Don’t kill her. Don’t kill her. A lot older? C’mon! Maybe ten years at the most. Is ten years a lot? I don’t even know any more. Am I old? I guess so. “Maybe I should,” I said between stiff lips.

“It would be fun. We’re almost the same size. I could dress you up!”

Yeah, except you are a hard-body and I’ve got pudding under my arms. “That might be nice, Dina. Thank you.” I started to wiggle my mouse so my screen would wake up. Dina still stood in the door.

“Yes?” I said.

“Do you mind if I leave a bit early?”

“No, go ahead. And have fun tonight.” Because I won’t.

Drunk on the Street Part II

“But you are so pretty, Pretty Lady. I think you should come with me.”

Is he kidding? “N’. Not goosh id’.”

“Dina? DINA?” I heard out of a distant place. My head snapped up like a marionette but that made me sick so I hung it back down. I tried to move around. Is someone calling my name? “Dina? What are you doing on the ground?” I watched as the foreign guy’s feet quickly moved away and a pair of Dansko clogs appeared. “Hey?” the voice said after the foreign guy. “Who are you? Are you leaving her here?”

“Ido no ‘im,”

“Dina. What are you doing?” A hand lifted up my chin up and I looked into the four eyes of my boss, Gretchen.

“Oh shee,” I said. And then I just sat down on my butt.

My boss said “Jesus,” as she grabbed me by the armpits and dragged me up over the curb and out of the gutter. “Ow,” I said futilely. My purse trailed along next to me.

“Lemme ‘splain. She, wen’ out wish Todsh.”

I saw the Dankos tapping. “Dina. Can you even stand up?”

“Ahsh…jus’ call mea cab?”

“I don’t think so. Maybe Todd is not a good person for you to go out with. I mean, he’s cute, I guess...But this is dangerous. I sure hope my daughter doesn’t do this. Did you even know that guy who you were with a minute ago?” Gretchen kept talking, basically to herself, as I watched her Danskos go back into the gutter and out on the street. Next thing I know she’s on one side of me and some new foreign guy is on the other side of me and they are hauling me up into the cab. “Whash you doin’?”

“I’m going to take you to your apartment, put you in bed and you can tell me about it on Monday. If I was your mother, I’d, well, hopefully mothers don’t know about this kind of stuff. And what happened to Todd? Why did he leave you?” she went off on another monologue while she and the cab driver stuffed me into the cab. Gretchen got in on the other side and slammed the door just as the cab driver got in and slammed his.

“Sick,” I said.

“Oh no you don’t ladies,” the cab driver said and next thing I knew I the passenger door opened and I was yanked out of the cab and propped back up against the signpost.

“What are you doing?” Gretchen shrieked as she got out of her side and the cab and raced around. “I can’t leave her here!”

“And I can’t have some girl throwing up in my cab.” I heard a door shut and I watched as the tires of the cab drove away.

I listened to the sounds of the street city. “Are you really going to be sick?” Gretchen asked.

“Don thinso now,” I told her. I was really becoming familiar with the cracks in the pavement around the signpost. I trailed my finger up a seam in the concrete and started humming.

“Jesus.” I heard the Danskos tapping. “All right. I’m taking you to my house.”

“Ylive ‘ere?”

“Yes, I live right around the corner.”

“N’area.”

“Ok, get up,” Gretchen leaned over me and put my arm around her shoulder. It was as if my legs had no strength. “Maybe we should take off your shoes.” Gretchen put me back down and took off my shoes.

“Y’re really good boss,” I slurred, trying to be nice.

“Yeah,” she stuck my 3-inch heels in her oversized bag. “I can’t believe you wear these thing to the office. How do you even walk around all day?”

“I dunno.” We started slowly moving down the street, although to me it looked more like a sideways hill. I started to giggle.

Drunk in the Street Part I

I can sense people walking by me – it was very warm New York night, the first of the season, and everyone and their brother is out on the street. I drank too much. I admit it. It’s Friday, I went out after work with Todd; it’s Cinco de Mayo… Need I say more? But the sad part is that Todd left me around 6pm to go a previously planned dinner and I stayed at the bar – surrounded by three gorgeous men in their late 20s. The margaritas kept flowing.

It gets sadder. After about 9pm, they all left, and I stayed LONGER. Until finally, when I decided to leave, I realized I couldn’t walk. I barely made it out the door and around the corner before I not-so-gracefully lowered myself to the ground, my high-heeled feet in the gutter, my legs splayed out in my short office skirt, my once-brushed hair hanging down into the asphalt as I hung my head below my knees. I watched the street buckle and wave and move sideways. Shit. I’m in trouble. How the hell am I going to get home if I can’t even stand up and get a cab?

All of a sudden there was a guy above me, some foreign guy who said “Pretty lady? Are you all right? Shall I take you home?”

I didn’t say any thing. Maybe he’d go away. I reached up and touched my shoulder to make sure my bag was still there. It was. I followed the strap from my shoulder down to the bag, and rested my arm there like it’s a sling.

“You ok, pretty lady?”

“Yesh.” I said, never raising my eyes off the gutter. “’M fine.”

I heard a man walking by say “Wow, she’s drunk.”

“I hate that feeling,” a lady said.

“Well,” the man said, “At least she’s got a friend.”

“I hope she actually knows that guy,” the lady said, “or she could be in a bad situation.”

No! I don’t, the little sober part of my brain said! What came out was a garbled “no.”

“What did you say, pretty lady?” the annoying guy above me said. “You want cab?”

“No. G’way.”

“You want to come with me?”

“No.” I tried to be forceful. I even tried to stand up, but I pitched forward and landed on my hands with my ass sticking up like some yoga pose, so I quickly bent my knees. I felt my skirt moving down my hips so that my g-string was now exposed. Damn it. I came to some sort of standing position. I tried to pull my skirt up but my purse strap slipped down to my elbow, pulling my shirt with it. Crap. Now my bra is probably hanging out. I leaned against a signpost. I was still standing in the gutter. “No.” I said again this time trying to stare at the foreign guy in the eyes (all four of them), but keeping my focus for that long brought on feelings of nausea and the world turned sideways. I got back down in some squatting position and stared at the ground.

I heard my phone ring from my purse. My arm was tangled in the strap as I tried to yank the purse back up to my shoulder and to the middle of my stomach. I tried, unsuccessfully, to slide the zipper open across the length of the bag it until the foreign guy bent down and unzipped my purse, took out the phone and held it in front of me.

I tried to be graceful. “Shanks.” I felt my head wobble. I focused, aimed and moved my hand toward the phone. I missed. I tried again. I grabbed it. It stopped ringing. I closed one eye and read Missed Call. “Shee’.” I tried to press the menu button but quickly gave up and dropped the phone back into my purse. It didn’t go into my purse but fell on the ground with a nice clack. See? There is one good reason to be squatting in a New York gutter; if you drop your cell phone, it won’t break. I shut one eye again, aimed with my hand and picked up the phone. I smiled as my head wobbled up to look at the foreign guy and said “She? Imma’n thas drun.” I started laughing because I know what came out of my mouth made no sense. Laughing and squatting was a bit much for my balance so I grabbed on to the signpost. I felt my skirt moving below my g-string again. “Ah, fug’it.”

“What pretty lady?”

“G’way, “ I said. “G’way and leeme ‘lone.”

Life As I Know It

Life has been hard lately.

It's not that the things that happen are particularly tragic, but it is the reaction that goes on inside my head that makes my life seem extremely painful - most of the time. I am tired of being intense. I am tired of being smart. I am tired of being intuitive. I am tired of being painfully honest. I am tired of being driven. I am, well, just tired of being me.

At times I think all those qualities are good things to have, but at times like this, when my brain is spinning so fast I can't turn it off, can't relax, feel like a rubberband stretched to its limit; I wish to be ignorant. Ignorance is bliss. That is one of the best sayings in the world.

Today one my best friends is turning 52. FIFTY-TWO!!! There is a time when I would have thought, "Oh wow. That person is OLD." But you know, it really isn't that far away from where I am. I'll be 52 soon myself. And when I think about my moods, and how up and down I've been my whole life, I wonder how many months of ease and happiness will I have between now and 52? I'd say I'd be lucky if it 20%. Because I think 20% is about how much of my life has been happy and easy so far.

Yeah, I've tried anti-depressants, I've tried therapy - and you know what? This is me. Up, down, intense. Damn it. Oh wait, I haven't tried meditation. Don't even get my started.

My friend from Jr. High said to me last night "I think that you are only happy for weeks at a time. Not months or years, but weeks. So you'd better enjoy those weeks you have."

Amen sister. Enjoy "those hits" (as my mom says).