Sunday, February 21, 2010

Diary of a crazy white woman

Oh you guys. Again. Here I am. Mortified. Pure-D mortified. I took the stuff for Gomez. $115 worth of boy's clothes. And gave him the receipt. And waited. Waited. Waited. He wouldn't repay me. I finally had to ask him for the money. Oh yes, he said absent mindedly. I guess it was just pocket change to him. He who went to college with a servant and a Mercedes. Not pocket change to me. Rich people. Honestly. I never should have dated him. Never.

posted Thu, 22 Sep 2005

I cannot believe that tomorrow, I will get on a plane to Paris to spend nine days with a man I just met a month ago.

I am not the kind of person to act that impulsively and irrationally.

Does she look like the kind of girl who would turn into a two-bag, five-shoe, go to Paris with a man she just met grown up?
Photo credit: The Big Factotum

I am the kind of person who gets upset that her grocery store has moved the sugar from one aisle to another.

When I met my last boyfriend, we emailed for two and a half weeks (we met on matchmaker.com) before we met in person – in a public place, of course. We had been talking for an hour before I told him my real name.

I didn’t give him my home phone number until after our second date.

I still wasn’t sure he wasn’t an axe murderer.

Don’t worry – he wasn’t. He turned out to be a wonderful guy. But I am a very cautious person – that’s the point I am trying to convey. I am not the sort of person who just ups and skips across the ocean to spend a week with a man she barely knows. Oh! And uses most of the rest of her vacation for the year to do it!

But as I have been getting ready for this trip, the women who have gotten the quick version of this story have loved it. It’s like a fairy tale. A friend of my mom’s who reads this site emailed her this morning. “Are you worried about CF?” she asked. “Are you excited? I’m excited!”

When I got my tickets, I originally had an eight-hour layover in Amsterdam on the way to Paris. I called Northwest and asked what would happen if I just took the train to Paris from Amsterdam, thus avoiding the long layover and getting me to Paris at 3:00 p.m instead of 8:00 p.m. Would I still be able to get on the plane home from Paris?

No! the ticket agent told me. My ticket would become invalid.

Well, rats. I asked her what she suggested.

She said I really needed to rebook, getting a ticket that stopped in Amsterdam.

I was worried that I would lose the seat, which I got with frequent flier miles, altogether. As I thought out loud, my story spilled out. She became intrigued. No, she became involved. She wanted to help me. Without charging me a change fee, she rebooked my ticket for me – routing me through Detroit instead and getting me to Paris at 11:00 a.m. instead of 8:00 p.m. with almost the same departure time from M’town.

“Please send me a note and let me know how things turn out, OK?” she asked.

Absolutely! I have already written a letter to the CEO of Northwest telling him what great service she gave me.

Yesterday, I ran to the Gap to do some shopping for Gomez’s little boy, who is seven. Gomez had mentioned that he wanted us to go to the Gap in Paris to shop for his son, which just sounded so funny to me – to be in Paris and shop at the Gap. When he said that, I remembered being in the Gap in London and noticing how expensive everything was there compared to US Gap prices. I asked if he wanted me to pick some things up here. Sure, he said – he would reimburse me for whatever I got.

So the saleslady and I spent Gomez’s money – which was a lot of fun – on cute little boy clothes, trying to figure out what the weather is like in Morocco in the winter. As she was ringing me up, she asked what was taking me to Paris. I told her the story and her face lit up.

“Oh!” she sighed. “Oh, that sounds wonderful! I hope that works out for you!”

So I am acting completely out of character living out this fairy tale fantasy and I am doing it with two suitcases, which is another thing I have never done before. When I went to Morocco for twice the amount of time, I took only one bag and half of it was filled with Henry’s swim diapers. When I backpacked across Latin America for ten weeks, I had, well, a backpack. You know, what I could carry on my back.

This time, I am taking two bags (OK, one of them has Rali’s stuff in it). I am taking five, yes that is five pairs of shoes. Five. Five five five five five pairs of shoes. I have never in my life gone on a five-shoe vacation before. Actually, I guess six if you include what I will be wearing on my feet.

My goodness what has become of me?

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