Actually--it's been happening for quite some time. Don't believe me?
Read the book."Get the book here"
Not a reader? You can always watch the movie: "Watch this movie!!"
And you will see what a folly my life has become.
Don't believe me? Well children..I SO have a story for you.
What summed it up for me was last Thursday evening. I had a meeting of sorts to go to. I volunteer my time doing PR/Marketing for a smallish local not-for-profit. (Bridget? Works in "Publicity"..the much cuter sounding English equivalent.) So, I leave work..and it's a blizzard out. (In November? Really?) The snow follows me downtown, and I drive round the block of a fancy schmancy hotel (in which we are having said meeting) for ten minutes. Giving up, I park it in the mall and get myself across the street. The e-mail said we were to meet in the bar.
Not the lobby. The BAR.
Now. Let me just say. I am more than a tad under dressed for this place in my slip on, worn completely out work shoes (from Payless), my chocolate colored chinos and green corduroy coat (both from Target). While I have some makeup on..I am far from "made up". Oh! And my hair was in a jaunty pony tail. Mainly because I was too lazy to wash my hair that morning, but that's neither here nor there. (Washing your hair too much? Makes it dull and lifeless. It took my 31 years to figure this one out.) So..let's just say...all these ladies coming in from a convention in 4 inch heels and pencil skirts and exquisite scarves? Yes. They blew me out of the water.
I walked in to the bar and the hostess was helpful enough to point me in the direction of a couple by the window. Considering it was a man with a girl young enough to be his daughter I thought, "Probably not my group..". And no. She was not his daughter. How do I know? Because his hand was so far up her thigh that it made ME blush.
So, I go around the bar again, and there is a very handsome older man, maybe in his 50's, sitting at a large table by himself. He's in a suit that costs more than I make in a month, I'm sure. Drinking scotch, or bourbon, on the rocks. Did I mention he was nice looking? Cause he was. Very. Yowza. "Bingo" I thought to myself. Since I was looking for an academic, I figured this was my guy. I walk up to the man, and the first thing out of his mouth was "You look familiar. Have I seen you before?"
Silly me. I was flattered. Maybe he had seen me on the website or something. I sit down and start to pull my things out. He asks me what I'm drinking. I politely decline and get out my notes and notebook and pen. He looks confused. I am confused by his look of confusion. I ask him if he wasn't Mr. X, and he says no. "So you're not with the committee from the museum?"
Nope.
That's right. I just plopped myself down in front of a very attractive man, obviously a "Somebody", like I knew what in the hell I was doing in a coat from Target and in Payless shoes. And he? Was just another in my very long line of Daniel Cleavers throwing out a cheesy pick up line. And it worked. Oh. Dear. Lord. If the earth could have swallowed me whole in that moment, I would have been ecstatic.
I grab my things, apologize for idiocy and bolt from the bar to wait in the lobby.
Just wait. It gets better.
The concierge kept asking if he could "help" me. I told him I was waiting for someone. I'm pretty sure he thought I was the cheapest hooker he'd seen in a long while. A step up from streetwalker, sure, but not exactly what I would call a fantasy come to life.
I blame the cheap shoes.
So, I do what I should have done before I came to the stupid meeting. I googled the person I was meeting.
And guess who had been sitting in the lobby for the entire time?
You guessed it.
Oh. And it gets worse.
Rhea is not an expert on the topic at hand. Rhea has been brought in to "fanny about with the press releases". I know nothing about these teaching methods (I'm so NOT a teacher...and I have the utmost respect for those of you that are), nor have I read everything a certain author has written.
The guys in my meeting. Are. And Have.
I HATE feeling like the stupidest person in the room. Hate, hate, hate, hate it. But jokes were told that I didn't get. Books dissected that I hadn't read. I had the overwhelming urge to ask "Do you know....where...the toilets are??", but I bit my tongue. I was there for PR and Marketing. I left with no idea how to do either for this project. (Don't fret, it WILL come to me. But I was blindsided by all the academic brilliance and super smart author talk I had been exposed to.)
It made me kind of sad. I so very much want to be one of those super brilliant people who wows people with her smarts. Instead, I got lopsided grins of "Aww..isn't she cute? Trying so hard! It's adorable."
Sigh.
My only saving grace right now is that if I die "fat and alone", I won't be found three weeks later half eaten by wild dogs.
Nope. It will be cats.
And I better not be fat.
