Now not only did I miss Cayden, but I was also sexually frustrated. Not a good combination. I'd find myself thinking about him when I'd fall asleep at night, knowing he'd be waking up within the hour to start his day. I'd close my eyes and have flashbacks of the night we spent together. They were getting fuzzier and the details were fading, so I wrote it all down (which you read earlier). I still checked my phone all the time, and I'd get all excited to see I had an inbox message waiting for me. Then my heart would sink when I'd see it's just another Victoria's Secret free panty offer. Why the fuck do I need sexy panties? Not like anyone was going to see them! I wanted to e-mail VS and tell them to stop with the torture.
Things were going great at work. I was loving my job and making friends with my coworkers easily. We'd drink beer at our cubicles on Fridays and go out to lunch as a group on Mondays. There were so many things I wanted to tell Cayden about. I commuted an hour and a half to work and an hour and a half back. It was too much thinking time. I needed to get an apartment closer to work, stat. First I needed to buy my own car, not that I didn't fully enjoy driving dad's Honda CRV for free. It was like driving a toy Tonka truck. Turn too fast and you'll end up on two wheels. But it got great gas mileage. I had no idea what kind of car I wanted. The only car I'd ever wanted was a Mitsubishi 3000GT, and I'd already bought two of those. They were beautiful, but unreliable. It was time for a big-kid car. So I bought an Infinity G35 Coupe. I snapped a picture of it and almost sent it to Cayden, but stopped myself. He wouldn't care I bought a car. He didn't want me. Wonderful--Cayden didn't want me and Brady didn't want to have sex with me. But everything else in my life was perfect. I guess sometimes you just can't have it all. But at least I got my free panties.
One night on my way home from work, mom called.
"Do you want tilapia or chicken for dinner?"
"Hmm, tilapia. I should be home in about an hour or so."
"Traffic's that bad?"
"Yeah. Mom?"
"Yes?"
"I miss Cayden."
"So why don't you email him?"
"What? No! I can't just be his glorified pen pal. No, thanks! If he doesn't want me, I just have to deal with it."
"Whitney, you know it's not that he doesn't want you, he just can't be with you right now. That doesn't mean you can't have a friend in London who's excited for you when you tell him how your day was."
She had a very valid point. I hadn't thought of it that way. Looking back, all of our emails had been strictly friendly anyway aside from the occasional "I can't wait to be back in bed with you," or "I just want to kiss you again," comments leading up to the trip he was planning to Texas. So, was it possible for us to go back to that? Talk like we used to, just with the understanding that we probably won't see each other again? Just the thought of being able to wake up to his emails again sent a jolt through my body. I had to do it. I had to email him right then. I almost pulled over on the side of the road to email him from the car, but decided against it. I'd go home, enjoy dinner, talk to mom more about it, maybe call one of my sisters, and then sleep on it.
October 20, 2009
It had been a month since we'd last talked. I caved.
(Just a heads up to my readers: You'll probably find this email VERY boring, so feel free to skim it. Reading over it now I almost fell asleep.)
"So, after having a lot of time to sit and think about it, I decided I want to try to talk to you as a long-distance friend, rather than not at all. I've gotten over the fact that we're not going to be anything more than that, and I think I can handle that. I've just really missed being able to email you and talk to you about all the big things that have been happening in my life, not in a romantic way, but just in a I-can't-wait-to-tell-you-about-this way. Do you think we can give that a try?
I figure there's really no reason not to keep in touch and to lose the friendship that formed over these past few months just because we probably won't see each other again. It's still fun to have a long-distance pen pal to hear from every now and again. So no, we probably shouldn't talk 3 times a day or anything like that, but I'd love to hear from you every now and then.
Just a few updates from the last time we talked. My going away party was INCREDIBLE. SO many people came and it was absolutely perfect. At the beginning of it, it was really chill, just my really close friends dressed up all fancy enjoying drinks on the roof. By the end of the night, oh man, we were dancing like crazy people until 6 am! Remember that band Akudama I talk about sometimes? (I was in their music video) Well, the singer came to my party and played a few songs privately just for me. It was so beautiful, I almost cried. Then he partied with us until 6. He's so musically talented it's unbelievable.
Then on Sunday morning, I woke up to my phone ringing like crazy. It was my mom calling. She said she was downstairs and to buzz her up! My parents came and surprised me!! I was SO EXCITED! I was pretty sad that I was going to move before they got to see Brooklyn and meet my friends here. They were in Rhode Island for my dad's high school reunion, and it was only 3 hours away, so they decided to drive over to Brooklyn for the day before they flew back to Texas the next day.
So I got to show them the apartment, and then they took me, Lea, Alexa, Christian, and Scott out for brunch, and then I took them to the pier where you can look at Manhattan from the water. I had never been to the pier before, and I regret that, because the view was something else. They loved my friends here, and loved my roof, but thought my apartment was really small. Haha, little did they know that was HUGE for an NYC apartment.
So, anyway, I finished up work on Tuesday and said goodbye to all of my coworkers without crying. Then I packed up my room on Wednesday and said bye to everyone else without crying. I don't know how I managed to do that, because I really thought I'd be an emotional wreck.
So, have you ever heard the saying that "everything's bigger in Texas?" Well, besides the houses and things like that, I realized today that it's the sky that blows my mind. The sky goes on FOREVER. It's so big and vast, like you can see on and on. It feels strange, actually. I mean, it's beautiful, yes, but at the same time, it makes me feel very exposed. I know it sounds crazy, but it's almost a creepy feeling. Even the sun was HUGE! I don't know if I've ever seen the sun that big before. Sure made for a colorful (and HUGE) sunset though.
Well, I'm sure I just bored you with a long, random email, before I even gave you the chance to say if you wanted to keep talking or not. So.... if you'd rather not talk to me, I understand, and just don't respond to this email. But I'd love to hear what's been going on in your life. Hope to hear from you."
Then, I waited.
Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Friday, May 28, 2010
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
21. Tequila Shots
“Hey, Whitney, want to go to a tequila-dinner event next week?”
“Does a bear shit in the woods?” I wanted to ask, but decided that after only a week as the new girl it wouldn’t be an appropriate response to my straight-edged executive editor’s work-related question.
“Sign me up,” is how I actually responded.
He sent me the invite and I read over the details.
Tres Generaciones Tequila was hosting a three-course dinner where their National Ambassador would share cocktail recipes and information on the history of their tequila. Would I like a plus one?
I thought about it for a second. Bringing a non-journalist along to a PR event can only go one of two ways: He/She gets shitfaced and tells inappropriate jokes to the organizers while sloshing expensive (provided) libations on the marble floor, or he/she stands awkwardly outside of every social circle, regretting his/her decision to come with you, while you interview the spokespeople and mingle with other reporters. But then I thought about the simple fact that tequila makes me frisky.
I replied yes, and gave her Brady’s name.
We’d still been talking every couple nights, so he wouldn’t call Rae and I wouldn’t think about Cayden.
I was still thinking about Cayden.
I parked my car in front of the hotel that was hosting the event. I flipped down my mirror to check my teeth (nothing’s more awkward than talking to someone who has something wedged in their chompers while you stare at it, just to make sure it doesn’t unwedge and launch from their mouth to yours), added a little bit of lip gloss, and ran my fingers through my long dark brown hair, something I do too often when it’s straight because it’s a very rare occasion.
I stepped out of the car and immediately regretted the fresh coat of lip gloss as the unexpected tornado-like winds whipped my hair across my face. As I approached the door, I pushed my hair back off my face, smearing thin trails of lip gloss goo across my cheeks. Cute. One of the many downfalls to having almost waist-length hair (among others: rolling you hair up in your window and you don’t notice until you try to check your blind spots, hugging someone and having your hair get stuck in their armpits as they walk away, and—an all-time favorite—sprinting home from a night class because you’re positive a black-clad murderer with ninja moves is chasing you, and later finding out it was just a piece of your hair caught on the corner of your glasses). I wiped my cheeks and walked in.
There was Brady, standing in the lobby. It had been a year or two since I’d seen him last. He was still attractive. He stood there in his khaki pants and striped button-down shirt, smiled, then pulled me in for a hug. He seemed taller.
“You look good!” He said as he pulled away.
“As do you!” I said, and meant it.
As I was chatting with the National Tequila Ambassador, I looked over his shoulder and saw Brady, inside a social circle, laughing, joking, and planning a sky-diving outing with a few other local journalists. Gotta love him. Everybody does. With his looks, job title (chiropractor), and Southern-boy charm, Brady was a catch. But he wasn’t my catch. Watching him interact with everyone, I saw him for what he was: A good friend. A tall, goofy, good-natured friend. Not someone I wanted to rip clothes off of and have throw-me-against-the-wall passionate sex with.
Three cocktails and four tequila shots later, I changed my mind.
“Does a bear shit in the woods?” I wanted to ask, but decided that after only a week as the new girl it wouldn’t be an appropriate response to my straight-edged executive editor’s work-related question.
“Sign me up,” is how I actually responded.
He sent me the invite and I read over the details.
Tres Generaciones Tequila was hosting a three-course dinner where their National Ambassador would share cocktail recipes and information on the history of their tequila. Would I like a plus one?
I thought about it for a second. Bringing a non-journalist along to a PR event can only go one of two ways: He/She gets shitfaced and tells inappropriate jokes to the organizers while sloshing expensive (provided) libations on the marble floor, or he/she stands awkwardly outside of every social circle, regretting his/her decision to come with you, while you interview the spokespeople and mingle with other reporters. But then I thought about the simple fact that tequila makes me frisky.
I replied yes, and gave her Brady’s name.
We’d still been talking every couple nights, so he wouldn’t call Rae and I wouldn’t think about Cayden.
I was still thinking about Cayden.
I parked my car in front of the hotel that was hosting the event. I flipped down my mirror to check my teeth (nothing’s more awkward than talking to someone who has something wedged in their chompers while you stare at it, just to make sure it doesn’t unwedge and launch from their mouth to yours), added a little bit of lip gloss, and ran my fingers through my long dark brown hair, something I do too often when it’s straight because it’s a very rare occasion.
I stepped out of the car and immediately regretted the fresh coat of lip gloss as the unexpected tornado-like winds whipped my hair across my face. As I approached the door, I pushed my hair back off my face, smearing thin trails of lip gloss goo across my cheeks. Cute. One of the many downfalls to having almost waist-length hair (among others: rolling you hair up in your window and you don’t notice until you try to check your blind spots, hugging someone and having your hair get stuck in their armpits as they walk away, and—an all-time favorite—sprinting home from a night class because you’re positive a black-clad murderer with ninja moves is chasing you, and later finding out it was just a piece of your hair caught on the corner of your glasses). I wiped my cheeks and walked in.
There was Brady, standing in the lobby. It had been a year or two since I’d seen him last. He was still attractive. He stood there in his khaki pants and striped button-down shirt, smiled, then pulled me in for a hug. He seemed taller.
“You look good!” He said as he pulled away.
“As do you!” I said, and meant it.
As I was chatting with the National Tequila Ambassador, I looked over his shoulder and saw Brady, inside a social circle, laughing, joking, and planning a sky-diving outing with a few other local journalists. Gotta love him. Everybody does. With his looks, job title (chiropractor), and Southern-boy charm, Brady was a catch. But he wasn’t my catch. Watching him interact with everyone, I saw him for what he was: A good friend. A tall, goofy, good-natured friend. Not someone I wanted to rip clothes off of and have throw-me-against-the-wall passionate sex with.
Three cocktails and four tequila shots later, I changed my mind.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
8. Suitable For Work
Good thing my office was closed that day because I went back to sleep and slept for five more hours. I woke up around 4 and heard my roommates shuffling around in the kitchen. I slipped into an old softball jersey and a pair of shorts and stepped out of my room.
"Sounds like you had fun last night!" Alexa said with a smirk on her face.
Ah, she must be referring to the standing ovations. My bad. Or, his good.
"Um, I'm going to need yall to look at this," I said as I opened my phone and clicked on my pictures. Oh my god, I didn't see it. I scrolled through all the pictures on my phone. It wasn't there.
"Damn it! I had the best picture of his incredible body and I couldn't wait to show yall!"
"Does he know you took a picture of him?" Lea asked from the couch.
"Yeah, and I'm sure he think I'm out of my god damn mind, but it's not like I'm ever going to see him again." I'd spent the past two days wondering when I was going to see him again and the next two days realizing I wasn't.
Jon called. I ignored it.
---
"Sorry I didn't make it to your Fourth of July party! How was it?" Suzanne asked when I got to work the next day. We were both editorial assistants at the health magazine we worked at in midtown.
"Have you had your coffee yet? This one is a doozy," I said as I rolled my computer chair from my cubicle to hers.
"Ooo! Do tell! Mac, get over here! Whitney has another story!" Mac, the art assistant, had just walked in. She set her purse down at her cubicle, rolled her eyes, and headed over to Suzanne's cube.
"What did you do this time, Whitney?" Mac asked, somewhat accusatory, but overall intrigued.
They were used to hearing my off-the-wall stories. Whether it's a date I went on with a sexy sociology professor who used to be Obama's special assistant, or the nanny job I applied for in the Upper East Side that required me to teach English to a one-and-a-half year old under a strict video surveillance system that was probably created by her three-year-old sister. New York City was a crazy place, and I liked to soak up the crazy.
"I didn't do anything. I met someone."
"You always meet someone! And how is it that they always have sweet-ass bodies? It's not fair!" Suzanne crossed her arms over her chest and gave me a faux-jealous glare. She'd been with her boyfriend for four years, so she enjoyed hearing about the excitement that was my seemingly permanent single life. And no, I don't always take topless pics of boys I meet. They just all happen to have at least one swimming suit pic tagged of them on Facebook. Yes boys, while you're looking for our bikini pics, we're looking for your swim-trunks pics. I love the summer.
"Hold that thought, Whitney," Mac said. "Dani, get over here."
Dani had just stepped out of her office. Lucky bitch had recently upgraded from a cube to a real office thanks to her recent promotion from editorial assistant to associate editor.
She joined our group and looked right at me.
"Well, he has an accent."
I had their attention.
---
It was Wednesday, and I was still on cloud nine from my wonderful weekend. I was browsing through medicalnewstoday.com looking for recent research about the benefits of eggs, or monounsaturated fatty acid, or tanins, or probably all of the above, when I saw that I had a new email in my Gmail tab. (Across my tabs on my browser were Gmail, Facebook, Gawker, and medicalnewstoday, in that order) I clicked over, expecting an annoying email from Facebook about a comment I'd already read five minutes ago.
It was an email from Cayden.
"Hey Whitney,
My first day back in work today and my motivation is pretty much non-existant. Really wish I didn't have to come back, haha. Our last day in NYC was ok, just wandered around and enjoying the views. Drew and Topher are fine about Sunday, so don't worry about that. I think I might have beaten the jet lag. I took some sleeping pills before our flight so slept the whole journey, then slept for 14hrs last night. This evening I'm updating my cv in preparation for quitting my current job!
Sent from my iPhone"
I read it again. And again. Monounsaturated fatty acids could wait.
The night on the roof I had told him to tell Drew and Topher I was sorry I hadn't brought a group of girls for them to mingle with at the bar. So that's what he was referring to. Wow, I really hadn't expected to hear from him again. Especially so soon. And to answer your question, no, he wasn't quitting his job to come move in with me and be my sex slave, unfortunately. We had talked about our career goals, and he said he wanted to be 100% happy in his career, and he didn't feel like he was at that point in his current position. I remember saying, "at least you're not writing about menopause and toe cramps." I was.
I hit 'reply.'
"Glad to hear you made it back OK! Wow, I don't think I could ever
sleep 14 hours. How in the world are you going to be able to sleep
tonight? So, you're really going to quit your job, eh? That's a pretty big
decision. But I hope it works out for you. Everyone deserves to love
what they do, even if we have to do a few 'rubbish' jobs before we get
there :)
PS-- I accidently deleted that picture. Will you send me one?"
----
It took a few days and several emails to convince him that the photo was a necessity to my life's existence. But finally, he caved. I now share with you, my favorite base runner. Enjoy.
"Sounds like you had fun last night!" Alexa said with a smirk on her face.
Ah, she must be referring to the standing ovations. My bad. Or, his good.
"Um, I'm going to need yall to look at this," I said as I opened my phone and clicked on my pictures. Oh my god, I didn't see it. I scrolled through all the pictures on my phone. It wasn't there.
"Damn it! I had the best picture of his incredible body and I couldn't wait to show yall!"
"Does he know you took a picture of him?" Lea asked from the couch.
"Yeah, and I'm sure he think I'm out of my god damn mind, but it's not like I'm ever going to see him again." I'd spent the past two days wondering when I was going to see him again and the next two days realizing I wasn't.
Jon called. I ignored it.
---
"Sorry I didn't make it to your Fourth of July party! How was it?" Suzanne asked when I got to work the next day. We were both editorial assistants at the health magazine we worked at in midtown.
"Have you had your coffee yet? This one is a doozy," I said as I rolled my computer chair from my cubicle to hers.
"Ooo! Do tell! Mac, get over here! Whitney has another story!" Mac, the art assistant, had just walked in. She set her purse down at her cubicle, rolled her eyes, and headed over to Suzanne's cube.
"What did you do this time, Whitney?" Mac asked, somewhat accusatory, but overall intrigued.
They were used to hearing my off-the-wall stories. Whether it's a date I went on with a sexy sociology professor who used to be Obama's special assistant, or the nanny job I applied for in the Upper East Side that required me to teach English to a one-and-a-half year old under a strict video surveillance system that was probably created by her three-year-old sister. New York City was a crazy place, and I liked to soak up the crazy.
"I didn't do anything. I met someone."
"You always meet someone! And how is it that they always have sweet-ass bodies? It's not fair!" Suzanne crossed her arms over her chest and gave me a faux-jealous glare. She'd been with her boyfriend for four years, so she enjoyed hearing about the excitement that was my seemingly permanent single life. And no, I don't always take topless pics of boys I meet. They just all happen to have at least one swimming suit pic tagged of them on Facebook. Yes boys, while you're looking for our bikini pics, we're looking for your swim-trunks pics. I love the summer.
"Hold that thought, Whitney," Mac said. "Dani, get over here."
Dani had just stepped out of her office. Lucky bitch had recently upgraded from a cube to a real office thanks to her recent promotion from editorial assistant to associate editor.
She joined our group and looked right at me.
"Well, he has an accent."
I had their attention.
---
It was Wednesday, and I was still on cloud nine from my wonderful weekend. I was browsing through medicalnewstoday.com looking for recent research about the benefits of eggs, or monounsaturated fatty acid, or tanins, or probably all of the above, when I saw that I had a new email in my Gmail tab. (Across my tabs on my browser were Gmail, Facebook, Gawker, and medicalnewstoday, in that order) I clicked over, expecting an annoying email from Facebook about a comment I'd already read five minutes ago.
It was an email from Cayden.
"Hey Whitney,
My first day back in work today and my motivation is pretty much non-existant. Really wish I didn't have to come back, haha. Our last day in NYC was ok, just wandered around and enjoying the views. Drew and Topher are fine about Sunday, so don't worry about that. I think I might have beaten the jet lag. I took some sleeping pills before our flight so slept the whole journey, then slept for 14hrs last night. This evening I'm updating my cv in preparation for quitting my current job!
Sent from my iPhone"
I read it again. And again. Monounsaturated fatty acids could wait.
The night on the roof I had told him to tell Drew and Topher I was sorry I hadn't brought a group of girls for them to mingle with at the bar. So that's what he was referring to. Wow, I really hadn't expected to hear from him again. Especially so soon. And to answer your question, no, he wasn't quitting his job to come move in with me and be my sex slave, unfortunately. We had talked about our career goals, and he said he wanted to be 100% happy in his career, and he didn't feel like he was at that point in his current position. I remember saying, "at least you're not writing about menopause and toe cramps." I was.
I hit 'reply.'
"Glad to hear you made it back OK! Wow, I don't think I could ever
sleep 14 hours. How in the world are you going to be able to sleep
tonight? So, you're really going to quit your job, eh? That's a pretty big
decision. But I hope it works out for you. Everyone deserves to love
what they do, even if we have to do a few 'rubbish' jobs before we get
there :)
PS-- I accidently deleted that picture. Will you send me one?"
----
It took a few days and several emails to convince him that the photo was a necessity to my life's existence. But finally, he caved. I now share with you, my favorite base runner. Enjoy.
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