Bitter Is The New Black Part 5

Before I unleash my secret weapon34 and hurl myself across the desk to throttle Miss Orange Hair for her crimes against me and the English language, Rory appears.

"Rory! Thank G.o.d! I'm about to commit a felony."

"Please don't do that-you'd hate jail. They don't provide conditioner."

"The MENSA members you have working here say I don't have an appointment." The handful of clerks bright enough to realize I'm insulting them glower in my direction.

"Honey, you're going to have to start taking your hair a little less seriously."

"Never."

Rory laughs. "Regardless, I have time and I can take you now. It's the weirdest thing-my afternoon is clear because none of my appointments showed up." We walk back to her color station.

"Yeah? Ten bucks says they come in tomorrow."

Crash and Burn

CORP.COM.EMAIL.

To: SweetMelissa From: [email protected] Date: July 10, 2001 Subject: No Lunch For You Yo, Meliss- Change of plans-can't meet for lunch today. Apparently I'm needed in Cleveland TOMORROW, so I've got to spend this afternoon getting ready. Sorry for canceling on such short notice.

Let's catch up soon, Jen **********

Jennifer A. Lancaster Manager, Interactive Products, Midwest 312-555-2790.

"This communication is for discussion purposes only and does not create any obligation to negotiate or enter into a binding agreement with Corporate Communications Conglomerate, Inc."

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To: SweetMelissa From: [email protected] Date: July 13, 2001 Subject: FYI Melissa, Cleveland DOES NOT ROCK.

How does Thursday, July 19 look for dinner? I'm thinking chopped chicken salad and buckets o' margaritas at Banderas.

Si, si?

El Jen **********

Jennifer A. Lancaster Manager, Interactive Products, Midwest 312-555-2790 "This communication is for discussion purposes only and does not create any obligation to negotiate or enter into a binding agreement with Corporate Communications Conglomerate, Inc."

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To: SweetMelissa From: [email protected] Date: July 18, 2001 Subject: Mexican Cuisine Hola, First the good news...tomorrow I'll be having authentic Mexican food.

And now the bad...unless you're going to be in Tucson, too, we won't be eating it together. Dreadfully sorry and all that.

Jen P.S. Have I mentioned how excited I am to go to the hottest place on the face of the earth in the middle of the freaking summer?

Jennifer A. Lancaster Manager, Interactive Products, Midwest 312-555-2790 "This communication is for discussion purposes only and does not create any obligation to negotiate or enter into a binding agreement with Corporate Communications Conglomerate, Inc."

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To: SweetMelissa From: [email protected] Date: July 31, 2001 Subject: Scratch That Howdy, Correction: Tucson is NOT the hottest place on the face of the earth.

Minneapolis, MN is.

It was 100 degrees there yesterday. I'm pretty sure I saw a bird spontaneously combust.

Who knew?

Jen **********

Jennifer A. Lancaster Manager, Interactive Products, Midwest 312-555-2790 "This communication is for discussion purposes only and does not create any obligation to negotiate or enter into a binding agreement with Corporate Communications Conglomerate, Inc."

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To: SweetMelissa From: Date: August 13 Subject: This Is Getting OLD Greetings and salutations, Since it's fairly obvious we're never going to catch up in person, I may as well brief you via email. What a miserable couple of days I've had. Left for Dallas on Monday and took a long, HOT cab ride to Midway. The AC worked in the front seat, but not in the back. Unfortunately I wasn't sitting in the front seat and driving-a shame really, as my cabbie was busy eating lunch with a fork while talking on the phone.

After a long, HOT wait in the one un-air-conditioned part of the newly rehabbed airport, I boarded the plane and sat there for 1.5 hours-again with no AC-until we took off. At one point, I think I fainted.

So imagine my pleasure at coming back to the Great Midwest Swamp. It's actually worse here, and it was 98 degrees in Dallas, but not humid. I demanded my cab driver last night crank the air conditioning which he did, but he only left the part.i.tion open a crack. I sweated like it was my job the whole way home. I guess what I don't understand is WHY THE h.e.l.l COULDN'T HE OPEN THE FREAKING PARt.i.tION? Was he afraid of the well-dressed white woman with luggage going home to her upscale neighborhood? And why does no cab driver help me with my suitcases any more?

Did I mention that I worked/traveled for 18 straight hours on Monday, then worked/traveled for 16 hours yesterday, and spent a solid 10 of those hours giving back-to-back presentations? I am so tired I can't even see straight.

Now I have to grab a cab so that I can sweat on a client during a lunch before I head to New York. Which, of course, means we can't meet today YET AGAIN. Want to cry, but more likely will punch someone. Oh, and how are you?

Jen **********

Jennifer A. Lancaster Manager, Interactive Products, Midwest 312-555-2790 "This communication is for discussion purposes only and does not create any obligation to negotiate or enter into a binding agreement with Corporate Communications Conglomerate, Inc."

Perhaps my first mistake was taking financial advice from a book t.i.tled Confessions of a Shopaholic. But when you're desperate to raise sixty-five hundred dollars, you're willing to embrace even the craziest of ideas.

Like spending an entire summer sweating your a.s.s off in the back of a cab.

Or living within a budget.

Following in the divine Miss Becky Bloomwood's Louboutin-clad steps, I decided I, too, would Spend Less Money.

"A lot of innocent muppets died for this piece," Fletch says, running a skeptical hand over a hairy lime green ottoman in the too-trendy-for-words Gold Coast furniture store. "Tell me again what's wrong with the couch we have now."

"It's icky," I reply.

"That's not what you thought a year ago when you threw a fit in Pottery Barn. If I recall correctly, you claimed your life wasn't worth living if you didn't own the Charleston model. You even threatened to stab yourself Dracula-style with a wooden slat from the back of the futon if I refused you."

"I never said anything of the sort," I say, attempting to look innocent.35 He laughs. "You're a terrible liar. Then you were so excited when it arrived, you tried to shove the deliverymen out of the way to carry it up the stairs yourself."

"Their overalls looked dirty, and I didn't want their grubby paws on my clean new upholstery. Besides, I hated that futon more than pleather shoes and acid-washed jeans combined, so I was just trying to speed the process of getting it out of the living room and into storage."

"I was glad to be rid of the futon, too," he concedes. "That's why we bought the soft, down-filled couch. I still don't get why we're here looking at furniture we do not need."

"Everyone and their brother owns our stupid sofa now. I'm tired of stepping into every apartment in the city and seeing my generic old furniture. It may as well be white with a black bar code and a label reading Couch. Where's the originality? Where's the creativity? I don't want people looking at my furniture and thinking, 'Oh, great, another yuppie lemming who ordered off page forty-three.' I want them to exclaim, 'What an exquisite collection! Jen, as always, your taste is second to none.'"

"Who are the 'they' in this scenario?"

"The stylish people we're bound to meet sooner or later."

"But we don't know them?"

"Not yet. And we won't ever if we don't get some trendy new pieces."

Fletch throws his hands in the air, completely resigned. "I certainly can't argue with your logic."

"See? I knew you'd agree." Actually, he's a lot less disgusted with me than he sounds. The way we bicker, people always think we're on the verge of a breakup, but that's totally untrue. We simply communicate better by arguing. We spend so much time fighting tiny battles, e.g., which was the better Darrin on Bewitched,36 that we never seem to have any steam left over for big ones.