Never Again

The drama began months ago and this is how it started:

“Oh my God! You guys are all going to Vegas?!! Can I come?” begs my sister.
“Sure!” I responded.

It’s been the biggest one word mistake I’ve ever made.


March 15, 2006

“Hey Jan, did you already make a hotel reservation for John and I?” Lucy asks.
“Yes, of course. Hotels fill up fast. I put the reservation on my credit card.” I explain.
“Oh? You did?” she sounds disappointed. “’cause it turns out John and I can’t come anymore. I have this work thing…..”
This is very common with Lucy. She never has any idea what she’s doing.
“I’ll cancel your reservation.”

March 18, 2006

“Hey Jan, it’s me! Guess what? My work thing was cancelled!!! We can go- can you try to get our reservation back?”
“Sure, I’ll try. Are you positive you can make it?”
“Absolutely!” she screams.

I rebook the reservation.

March 24, 2006

“Hey, Jan- it’s Lucy. Listen, I hear Nobu is really awesome- can you make a reservation for the group on Friday when we arrive?”
“Do you know how expensive that is?” I ask.
“No, but it’ll be great- trust me.”

I make the reservation.

March 28, 2006

“Hey Jan, it’s me. I have a problem with the restaurant reservation. John and I also need to change our hotel plans. We’ve decided to stay with my friend Al who is also in town that weekend. Call me back.”
Beep.

April 2, 2006

“Did you get my message? John and I aren’t taking a plane. I think it’s too small- you know about my anxiety with flying, so we’re going to drive. That means we’ll miss Nobu. You cancelled that reservation, right?”
“Yes, I got your message. I cancelled the reservation. Lucy- what’s the deal with the hotel? Are you staying with Al? You know this is all on my credit card. I’ll be super-pissed if they charge me.” I growl.
“Oh they won’t charge you- lighten up!” Lucy chirps.

April 8, 2006

“Oh my God!! Guess what? My friend Al can get us all VIP passes for GhostBar Friday night!!! It’s going to be amazing!” she’s screaming into the phone.
“Really? That’s awesome- let me tell the gang and make sure it’s cool with everyone.”
At this point, I am also in a good mood.
What a blast!

April 10, 2006
I send out an e-mail to my 8 friends who are coming on this trip.

April 11, 2006.
No phone calls.
Instead I receive lots of e-mail responses from friends fired up about GhostBar.

April 17, 2006
I receive an e-mail from Lucy.
It goes like this:

Jan, I can not believe you just wrote everyone and told them Al could get us on the VIP list at GhostBar. I told you I wasn’t 100% sure he could do it. Now everyone is expecting it. Why don’t you ever fucking listen to me?
I now have to repair the damage you’ve done.

April 18, 2006

Two can play at this game.
My response:

Lucy- did I EVER invite you to come?
Do you have any clue how many changes I’ve made for you?
Do you know how many faxes I’ve sent, confirmations I’ve cancelled, e-mails I’ve written to make you happy?

No, you don’t.

Do you know how many times you’ve thanked me for putting up with you and your crap?

Zero.

If you have any further problems/complaints/concerns please call 1-800-DONTCOME.


April 18, 2006, afternoon.

I'm feeling a little guilty for my evil E-mail response. However, it isn't completely undeserved. This was meant to be a relaxing vacation. I've been pulling my hair out since the word "Sure" popped out of mouth.
At least I’ve learned from this experience.
When planning a group trip- fend for only yourself.

Picture Perfect

You could have heard my gasp from across the entire supermarket. I was standing in line when I decided to reach for a pack of gum.

“OH MY GOD!” the shock in my voice stopped the cashier mid-check out. People in line stared.

Just above the Trident plastered on the front of “Guy’s Life” magazine was my college boyfriend. I glared harder at the cover- hoping I had suddenly become delusional.
Nope, that’s him. I could feel the puke brewing in my stomach- begging to be let out.

The fact is- it really shouldn’t be that shocking. I know he lives in LA. I know he has a few TV credits to his resume. I know there is a tiny chance he could one day be “discovered.” But I certainly hadn’t banked on this.

And worst of all “Why Do I Care?”

That’s the question that’s been bouncing around my brain since this supermarket fiasco began.

“It’s not him, it’s you,” Kelly says.
My friend Kelly has her Masters Degree in psychology.
“You equate mini-fame with success,” she adds. “You see him on a magazine cover and convince yourself he’s more successful than you.”
“Yeah, but he is. And this really bothers me. I know, I suck, tell me I’m evil.”
“No he’s not. What you feel is normal. Who wants to see their exes after it’s over?” Kelly states. “In simple terms we just want them- and the hurt feelings that go with them- gone.”

Kelly couldn’t be more right.
When a relationship ends I just want it to vanish. No phone calls, friendships, or mutual friends allowed. It’s healthiest that way.
And in this case the reminders are one-sided. So I feel super-ripped off.
I want to do something so fabulous he can see me on the cover of a magazine.
“Gals Life” would never look so good.

In truth, I need to accept that mini-fame doesn’t equal importance. I need to understand that I have no idea what troubles and problems he faces outside of the magazine. I need to remind myself that there’s no fairytale perfect world out there that I haven’t found.

And most importantly, I need to realize that the only person I need to make me feel successful is me.

Lunch Anyone?

It was a cold and rainy Friday afternoon when I stopped into the local Wegmann’s Food Court for lunch.
My offices shut down between 12 and 1 and I had an hour to kill with nowhere to go. Food sounded perfect.

I grabbed a salad and plopped down at a small table overlooking the store. I’m convinced I did not provoke what happened next.

“Hi there!” said a tall guy with glasses. He looked about 35. “Mind if I join you?”
I looked around to see who he was talking to.
You can’t be serious, I thought.

“Uh, well, I’m just finishing up….” My voice trailed off.
“That’s okay,” he chirped as he placed his tray next to mine.
I did a double-take to see if any friends were hiding behind the store trees laughing at me.
No luck.

“Do you work around here?” he asked.
“Uh, sort of, I have offices I work with near here.” I replied.
“Oh, are you in sales?”
“Yes, I am.” I said as I flashed my new engagement ring. It’s become a perfectly subtle way to ward off intruders.
He didn’t seem to notice.
“I’m George; I’m new to the area. In fact, I just moved downtown.” He added. “What about you? Do you have a name?” he smiled a toothy grin.
“No I don’t.” I replied “My parents abandoned me when I was young, since then I’ve been called ‘hey you’. It’s not very glamorous, but it works.” I smiled back.
He laughed.
“Honestly, George,” I added. “I’m engaged, I live with my fiancé downtown. I wish I could be more help but I don’t think he’d be too excited to hear about me going out with new male friends. Sorry.”
I then grabbed my tray and began to leave.
“I completely understand,” he replied. “What a lucky guy. If you have any single friends you think would be interested- let me know. Here’s my card.”
I took his card and wished him a great weekend.

Truthfully, I feel bad for the guy. I’ve moved to places where I haven’t known a soul and it’s tough. Making friends and finding a group to belong to is a job on its own.

“So then he hands me his card, poor guy, he seemed really nice….” I told my good friend Marcia the story.
“Was he cute?” She asked.
“Yeah, nothing spectacular, but tall- he probably works out,” I responded.
Marcia is single and was listening very closely.
“But would you date him? That is, if you weren’t engaged.” She continued.
Probably not. But Marcia and I have very different tastes in guys.
“Sure.” I said. “Do you want his card?”
“I’ll take a look at it. No promises.” She stated.
“Of course not,” I confirmed.

This afternoon I wonder if I’ve done a good thing. I’ve put my friend’s trust in my opinion. If George turns out to be less than what she expected I could be in real trouble.
If he turns out to be fantastic- then I’ve created something wonderful.
So who knows?

But there’s one thing I am sure of:
Even if Marcia never calls, I’ll bet George will eventually find more than lunch at the Wegmann’s Food Court.