548. WHERE ARE YOU DESI GIRL?

Dear All –

Very, very, very sorry for the long lapses in posting this year. I am still here and working on coming back to the blog. For the past few months I have been crazy busy working on writing. In addition to taking two writing classes this year, I attended a non-fiction pitch writer’s conference where I pitched my book idea to agents and editors at publishing houses. Two editors asked to see a finished and final product. This was very exciting and now I really have to put the pedal to the metal and get the draft finalized and polished!

In addition, I did a reading of my work at a literary bar in Manhattan. This was really cool (I was a touch nervous) opportunity to be invited to. But more than that, it was a chance to test out the material to an audience. That was very helpful to see what they respond to. I was thinking about uploading the reading to the blog, but the reading is was about 15 minutes long – but if anyone wants to see what I read, I can upload it. I took a bunch of Reindeer posts and pulled them into a reading.

I think my writing planets are aligning!

Much love and appreciation!

xo,

DG

p.s. this post is posted in real time – April 18, 2012. The next post is going to go back in time to Spring of 2010.

547. DELETE AND BUH-BYE

At 5:00 pm the dot, I collect my things, pop my head into Daniel’s office, wish him a nice evening and leave the office. Once outside, I am met with a beautiful March evening and decide to save $2.25 and walk home. I can’t stand the 6 train. For some reason I like the trains on the west side and the buses on the east side.

The walk does me a lot of good because I am so annoyed and livid with him.  How dare he contact me after he spoke to me that? After he led me on? How? HOW? HOW?! And now, that I have worked at working through my feelings (feelings that I don’t understand and feelings that I the control freak cannot control) and getting over him, forgetting him, and then he comes back?

As I stomp past the Armory on Park Avenue, I think, really, really? Really? Hey. How are you? Was he really that casual? Did he FORGET being a DOWN RIGHT ASSHOLE when he YELLED at me? Fine, whatever I am not perfect …  I mean, blah, blah, blah. But REALLY? He was OVER the top with his mean and nasty texts.

Was he raised in a cave? Does he NOT know to say SORRY? Who the hell does this arrogant bastard think he is? Just because he is rich and smart, he thinks himself SOOO important, I wonder and march by the Metro Minis shop. It is not like he is saving lives.

I have half a mind to tell him off, tell where he can go, and by his pompous ass the ticket to “Bite Me”. I turn east onto 79th Street and have an idea. What if I just ignore him? Like he does me. It is not like I want to talk to him. He is the one who wrote to me. And I am not not not in the mood for another round of this. I don’t want to be his friend. I made that clear. I am looking for THE ONE. So I don’t want to deal with him and his toddler tantrums. I don’t want to go back on that emotional heroin infused roller coaster he puts me on every time he enters my theme park of a life.

I stop at the corner of 79th Street and First Avenue and pull out my phone and delete his message.

546. IT IS LIKE HE KNOWS

Okay. Wow. I am not sure what is more mind numbing. Dealing with the NY DMV. Or the realization that after 53 minutes on the phone with the DMV (53 minutes of my life that I CANNOT get back) that we are saving $10 per plate to move the cars from Manhattan County to Suffolk County. Surely my time has to be worth more than $20?

Ugh. I hang up the phone and push away from my desk. It’s lunchtime so I get my peanut butter sandwiches from the fridge and take a bite. I set one sandwich on my desk and nibble on the second. I begin eating the crust and saving the middle, where the bread is soft and layered with peanut butter, for last. I do this. For some reason, I like to save the yummiest thing for last. Like with life savers, I eat the green, then the orange, yellow, pineapple and then the best ones – the cherry ones – for last. One would think you want to eat your favorite thing first, but me; I want my favorite thing to be the last.

I stand by the window and stare at the traffic moving along the street. I have plenty of filing to tend to. Then I remember that I have to remind Daniel to write two checks to the DMV for license plate tab fees. But right now, I just want to enjoy a few minutes of peace and quiet and watch the army of yellow cabs race down the street.

From across the office I hear my phone beeping, alerting me to a text. I take a couple more bites of my lunch, brush the bread crumbs against my skirt and walk back to my desk. I am expecting a message from Tate asking how my day is going. Or Siobhan wanting to meet up for dinner. Or Ainsley asking the next time I have a volunteer meeting. I am not expecting this.

Text from Town and Country: Hey. How are you?

I read the four words, twelve times. How is this possible? What is going on? Is this really happening? Again?

I mean I really smarted for several days after he yelled at me over text. It took several days after that to get okay with knowing he ended our friendship. It took all my might not to wish him a happy birthday. And slowly, days, spilled into a week and the weeks into one month and then the second. In time, I accepted that this “relationship” had been lopsided since day go. That I had always liked him more than he liked me.

Eventually, I stopped thinking about him. Eventually I stopped hoping that there was something there. Eventually I stopped wishing that something could come about when he had more time and space in his head and heart and mind for me. Yes, I wished I had not had never found him attractive. But I did. So now, I just wanted to be Town and Country free.

So now that I am OVER him, NOW is when he decides to resurface? Does he have some Desi Girl-dar? It is like he KNOWS that I decided to move on --- and knowing that I am moving on, this is when he returns? What kind of messed up universe do I live in?

545. DESI GIRL AND THE NY DMV

“Hello, Daniel,” I say when the phone rings and I pick-up. “How do you know it is me?” he asks. I hear honking and voices screaming in the background and presume that he is on the sidewalk, walking to the office, or going to a client meeting, or however else an entrepreneur who has seven projects going on at all times, spends his day. “Caller id,” I reply. “I see,” he says. I hope he does not think I answer the phone like this, because I don’t. I simply find it more efficient to cut to the chase when I know it’s him.

In the few weeks I have worked for Daniel, I have learned that he gives no direction, which is fine.  I’m a quick study and can generally figure things out. There is also an absent minded professor element to Daniel, which is why I think he is disorganized. But I’m okay with this, too. My immediate reaction to chaos is to organize it.

“How much money is in the accounts,” he asks. Every morning I log onto the internet and print out the bank statements, highlight the outstanding monies and cross out what cleared. I then summarize the accounts and tell him the total monies available. Then he tells me to call the bank and ask them to transfer it around between the accounts. None of this is remotely mathematical or financial or within my skill set. But someone stole Daniel’s identity and now he (though his agent, me) monitors his credit score and all of his dollars with the vengeance of a left lane vigilante.

“Hhhmm. I need you to call Jack and then Sam. Find out where their payments are. And then I need you to change my residence with the DMV. I want my cars to show the Hampton house not the apartment in the City,” Daniel says and hangs up.

Okay. First, who are Jack and Sam? Are they a couple? Gay? Straight? Two clients? What are their last names? And two, ugga-bugga. DMV?  I have not changed my Minnesota driver’s license to New York because I have spent the better part of four years avoiding government agencies. This should be fun…

544. DESI GIRL OFFICE SUPPLY JUNKIE

Oh boy. These files are more complicated than I imagined. Silly me thought I could pile, reconcile and file. But I am at a loss of understanding because I don’t know much about Daniel or his clients or the other businesses he owned or why he has so many insurance policies. I also don’t know how he has avoided properly filing anything in five years. How does he find anything when he needs it?

Because he doesn’t have time between client and supplier meetings, Daniel is not able to educate me about what I am organizing. So I am going to have to teach myself about him, in order to support him. All of this has slowed me down and since I am a detail oriented, goal-driven individual, I am not sure how long it will take to straighten out these files. I am hoping that Daniel doesn’t ask me how it will take – because I don’t know. My best guess is months. But definitely, this exercise is the BEST way to learn about him, what he does and how I can better assist him.

I will admit, in this instance, I don’t mind not knowing how long this will take. I love to organize and file. I love bringing order to chaos. I love to feel papers in my hands, I love to sort through papers by date, oldest on the bottom, newest on the top and FIND what I was looking for. This is the one reason I wish I was stronger in my architecture skills when I was working for Town and Country. It was fun to look at his space and sleuth for different ways to re-design and enhance it. Similarly, I am an office supply junkie. I can do more damage at Staples than I can at in the shoe department in Bloomingdales. Colored paper, pens, Sharpies, notebooks, file folders in colors and prints, funky paper clips, scissors that cut squiggly lines. My list of addict-ables goes on!

When Daniel comes in he hangs his coat in the closet and surveys my desk, the floor surrounding me. I don’t know him well, but I know he is neat freak. So I am sure this mess makes his eye twitch. But he is also absent minded. We have already engaged in two full hunts for his keys that his misplaced.

“Desi Girl, I am going to need you to check my bank account balances every day, okay?” Daniel asks. Yes, okay, however I wonder two things. One, is he going to give me passcodes and account numbers in order for me to access his records? Surely I am not expected to know these things. Two, will he expect me to do math or accounting with the information? I hope not, both of these are outside of my skillset – I suck at math. Under no circumstance should anyone leave their small child or their finances in my inept hands.