One Hour, Thirty Seconds

As I get back to my office from running some lunch errands, I set my bags down, wash my hands, and am about to tear off the cardboard "open here" strip from my box of hot pockets when a plump, sugary, busy body of a mom walks in and asks to use my copier. I haven't even had a chance to turn on the lights before she starts commenting about the ambience of the office, wondering where everyone is, and asking 1001 questions about me, my career function, my college history, my personal life, etc. I just want to eat my lunch in quiet, but I have an entire minute and thirty seconds until my philly steak and cheese delight is ready for consumption, so I am stuck next to the copier with Chatty Cathy.

Highly annoyed, I finally ask who she is and what organization she works for, when I learn that she doesn't work anywhere, but in fact, she is a mom of a three-year old in the Dancing Angels program. Now, around the office, this pre-school ballet class that uses our building is also known as the place where high society women with rich husbands go to drop off their girls while they use their American Express card. Seriously, women will show up with little pink sweater tanks and matching pink sweaters wrapped around their shoulders, capri pants, heels, and 3 carat diamonds on their perfectly manicured hands. It's unreal. This women looks different, though. She is rather frumpy compared to the usual post-sorority girl-turned pretentious wife/ mother. I study her black sweats and reebok tennis shoes as she rattles on about Dancing Angels and Miss Whosie What's It who teaches the class. Then, in the same breath, she lunges into asking me about my personal life! In her overzealous tone, she inquires if I am married. It isn't just a generic question, but one that seems to mennacingly imply that she is either about to rejoice along in the glory of Christian married life with me, or try to induct me into her happy little house of bliss by sharing exactly why marriage and family is so great. Biting my tongue to withold any undue cynicism (which has evaporated over the years, until this very moment of annoyance), I answer with a firm "No", to hopefully dissuade her continuation of the subject, to no avail. Normally, the usual follow-up question would be "Do you have a boyfriend?" However, this ludicrous lady says in a consoling voice, "Do you have any hope for that with someone in the near future?" What kind of a person poses such an invasive question to a total stranger they have known for one minute and thirty seconds?? Am I not a worthwhile human being unless I can share in delusional marital bliss? Do people still think that it's not possible to live a fulfilled daily life as a single person? Geeesh!

At this second, I long for this woman to endure some sort of torment, preferably inflicted by me or perhaps experience a harsh reality in her own life to pop her perfect little bubble. Thankfully, my hot pocket finishes on cue, looney lady is spared my two cents on my experience with marriage, and I retreat back to my desk to stew maliciously over that whack job. Unfortunately though, my hot pocket is still cold in the middle, so I prolong the hunger pangs and wait until she leaves the office suite to use the microwave a second time.

(Nicole)

"(Nicole) had this...special status. More like a special power. And I couldn't match it...and I couldn't find anybody to replace it."

Many of us have Nicoles in our lives. Like a poisonous thorn in our side, she seeps into our veins and we can't seem to get rid of her. Even when we extract the flesh mangling impalement, some of the infection still remains.

Funny that I've often used the Nicole parallel to describe that one we shall not mention...because Adam called me yesterday and referenced a conversation he had recently with his ex, "Nicole" and compared it to this very movie scenario.

The thing is, Nicole causes us to be someone we are not. She devours our own personna and inspires us to be who she wants, not by her own request, but by her innate power over us, because we desire her attention so badly and will do anything to retain it. Even when we succeed, we are never good enough for her and it causes us to doubt ourselves. It's unhealthy and we deserve better.

Thankfully, I think most of the poisons are gone and the power has been demagnetized. I realized I have it pretty damn good, and I'm tired of holding an empty hope for a less than ideal candidate. I found my Erica. Or Matt. Or whatever...you get the point!!!

San Fransisco in 12 days!!!

Adaptation

Here I go again with yet another site for yet another audience. It seems like the appropriate time for new beginnings. Most see the movie version, but it tends to gloss over the highlights and leave out the intricate details and beauty which the author originally intended.