Today was my first day working in the historic town of Pendleton. It’s a small town but it’s charming. The drive is really long but coffee in the morning and good music in the afternoon does wonders for passing the time.
On a completely unrelated note, I am in utter bliss as new episodes began airing tonight for the WB. Ambs made some delicious cheese-it chicken, mashed potatoes, and french styled green beans. I always look forward to Tuesday nights so much.
I enjoyed a lovely Italian meal tonight. The fake grapes hanging along the ceiling added a nice touch and the fact that my last name is plastered on a sign up front is rather cool, too.
The Best Friend and I were dining in style when a rather loud noise interrupted our meal. Contemplating how rude people are to leave their phones on in restaurants, I continued to eat.
That’s when it occurred to me that the shrill, high-pitched noise was coming from my purse. I saw the look cross my best friend’s face. That is so not your cell phone ring. I carefully opened my purse and began lining the table with my Bible, wallet, keys, lipstick, chapstick, lip gloss (a proper woman needs all three), etc. The beeping was beginning to unnerve me and I tried to hunch down in the booth so people wouldn’t stare.
It suddenly occurred to me that after practice today, I had thrown my digital metronome in my purse.
I sat in on a four-hour meeting concerning Corporate Security today. His stories of when I was in the FBI and I did this and that were rather interesting but he was longwinded and I was late getting off work. I signed a thousand papers in which I promised to do this and that and never do that or the other and to be frank- I no longer wanted to hear his stories. Sure, a child was locked in a vault for two days. Sure, tear gas exploded in one building and everyone had to run for their lives. I just sat and pondered when it will be best to buy The New Car. And I also had nasty thoughts about the person who refills the candy dishes in the conference room. There were no strawberry starbursts left or any chocolate. Who expects me to work without chocolate? I mean, disperse with the 401k nonsense and just send me Godiva daily.
I was having lunch downtown yesterday afternoon while pouring through one of the latest Local Art and Media newspaper. Reading up on the local talent is always interesting as most of the local talent are rich Governor’s School kids who dress like bums and sit on the corner while playing their sax or acoustic guitar. Surprisingly, I found an article on a band whose lead singer used to be a student of my mother’s. Also surprisingly, I remembered to ask for the lettuce to be left off my sandwich. Anyway, I was eating and reading when a tap on the glass in front of me caused me to jump.
An old flame stood there. Old, for years have passed and flame, because our love was a bittersweet discovery of lips, hands, and cheeks forever red. Junior High was rough. His friends teased because he admitted that he liked a girl and my friends teased because I blushed when kiss was mentioned.
A weeklong school trip in a quaint town found me trying Root Beer for the first time, dancing on benches in the moonlight, and falling head over heels for that certain boy. I had boofy hair (the discovery of leave-in conditioner was to come later) and his smile was a little crooked. But love is blind for many wonderful reasons. We had our fair share of whispered phone calls in the night and secret letters quickly flung into book bags.
But life went on, as life does. We slowly parted ways in high school while managing to keep a sheepish grin plastered when passing in the halls. Amazingly, we ended up at the same college and in the same study of field. The last time I saw him was when he threw me that slow wave goodbye after graduation.
And here he was in front of the café. Smiling. And then looking away quickly as the woman on his arm glanced at me with a dark look. His eyes held the questions. I just simply smiled and went back to my newspaper.
The Company met its financial goals for the month, so like always- they reserved a restaurant downtown for an employees-only party. One of the money-managers tried his best to convince me to go tonight but I wasn’t in the mood. A night of fried chicken, drinks, and work place gossip does sound a bit intriguing but my little stop by the Meaders café was well worth it. The Irish guy is a dashing Byronic type and I don’t mind saying that I get refills just to hear him ordering people about in the kitchen.
On a side note, I am finding that I lose my sense of direction when I get off elevators. There was an incident today. But I should say that the man I ran into was merely the Tuxedo Man who stands at the elevator all day long. It’s possible that I was the highlight of his day.