When I Grow Up

Since Working Women Wednesday a few a weeks ago I have been thinking about my future.  I mean what future do I currently have?  My job with SAT TV is unbearable.  It's getting to the point where I don't want to go in anymore.  This is affecting my work performance.

So once again I am back to the idea of going back to school, but who wants to be the oldest student there?  It's embaressing. 

But really I have no idea what I want to do with my life and I should by now.  I should know.

I found myself again looking over the college website and dreaming.  Dreaming of what, I'm not sure.  Everything seems like it would take too long or cost too much or not be the perfect fit for me.  But what would be the perfect fit for me?

At one point I found myself looking at the graphic design page and daydreaming of Bill who works in the office building.  If I learned graphic design, in theory, I would be qualified to work for the same company he does.  It was a wonderful fantasy that I almost -- almost -- clicked on the "get more information" link.  I'm just not there yet.

The End is Near

I woke up this morning and looked in the mirror.  I looked haggard and tired.  I felt haggard and tired.

At breakfast I happened to look at the calendar hanging on the kitchen wall.  I caught sight of the date.  My birthday is exactly one month away.  That's it.  One month.  In one month I'll be 30.

How could I be almost 30?  I should be much further along in my life than this.  I should have a stable relationship, maybe have children.  I should live in a better house, drive a better car.  I should be in a career I enjoy.  I should know what I want to do with my life.

How can I turn 30?  I haven't even gotten out of my quarter life crisis yet.

Pretty in Pink

As you recall, I promised Lilly I would go dress shopping with her.  It is only because I love her like a sister that I will do this.

We went to Amy's Bridal, which was having a special sale, and it was jammed packed with crazy brides-to-be looking for a great deal.

It took a while before we were waited on.  Had I known this I wouldn't have had to take off of work early.  Our consultant was named Rita.  Rita showed us around the store. 

Lilly had to pick her dress out first  -- and it took forever.  So she had to try on, like, a million dresses, asking maddening questions all the while about how her boobs look and her butt looks, straps or strapless, train or no train, it's too expensive, not expensive enough.  Finally, she picked something to my relief.

Then we went to the bridesmaids section and Lilly picks a dress right away.  She only had me try on three, like they do on the bride's shows on TV, and, boom, she made a decision.  And it's pink.  Ugh.  I'm going to look like a blown-up piece of bubble gum in front of all those people.  How could she?  She must really be afraid her bridesmaids will outshine her.

From Here to the 19th Floor

This morning I went into work early to make up for some time I'm talking off later in the month to help Lilly go dress shopping.  This, believe me, is not how I would want to spend my day but I do it because, in the long term, it will make my friend happy. 

As I walked to the elevator I was thinking about Lilly and how I hope she doesn't pick pink for the bridesmaids dress.  I hate pink.  It's the same color as the flush in our cheeks or a baby's butt.  Who would want to wear pink?  I wasn't paying any attention to the guy who walked into the elevator with me.

"Hey, aren't you lunch bag lady?" he said.

"Excuse me."

I looked up and there was Bill, the guy I had meet in the cafeteria who works in the company above mine.  He seemed more handsome than the first time I saw him.

"Remember, we met in the cafeteria?  We both brought a bag lunch."  He held up his lunch bag.  "See I brought mine."

"Oh."  My arms were full with my coat, my purse, my umbrella and my lunch bag.  "Mine's here somewhere."

"Hum, what floor are you getting off on?"

"The, uh, nineteenth."

"Oh, that's right."  He laughed.  "You work below me."

"That's right."

"What's your name again."

"Fran."

"Oh, that's right."

We rode the rest of the elevator ride in silence.  I couldn't get to the 19th floor fast enough.

Working Women Wednesday

I try to associate with my co-workers as little as possible.  They remind me too much of work for any friendship to really be enjoyable.  But sometimes you turn down an invitation enough times you owe them one.

I went out tonight with a bunch of the SAT TV ladies for Working Women's Wednesday at a bar down the street from our office building.

Something happened while we were there, enjoying a drink and a light dinner.  The women began to talk about themselves.  But it wasn't just talking about themselves.  They were talking about their backgrounds and what brought them to SAT TV. 

All of them had stories that were oddly familiar.  They needed a job, they were deep in debt so they found what they could yet they were still deeply in debt and still dissatisfied.  What was worse was none of them had a college degree.  These women reminded me of me.  I had goosebumps listening to their stories.

They are all middle age and with my birthday coming up I am fearful of becoming like them.  I don't want to become like them  --  bitter and stuck.  I want to have a job I like and a little money in the bank.  I want to be happy, ya know?

Maybe I need to revisit that college site after all.

Blind Date Fred

Never let your mother set you up on a blind date.  It will never work out.  She'll describe him to be perfect when in fact he's, well, you'll figure it out.

What she said:  "He'd be perfect for you, Fran.  You're names sound so cute together, too.  Fran and Fred.  He's named after his grandfather, you know."

What really happened:  "I was named after Fred Flintstone which is kinda good because I sorta look like him."

What she said:  "He in a career field that's in demand."

What really happened:  "I work in sanitation maintenance.  Yep, I'm a janitor."

What she said:  "He's very polite."

What really happened:  BURP!

What she said:  "He's interested in settling down and starting a family."

What really happened:  "I hate kids."

What she said:  "He's highly educated." 

What really happened:  "I'm kinda thinkin' I should go get my GED."

What she said:  "You're both in the same place in your life."

Huh?  What, Mom?  What do you mean by that?  The same place in our lives?  What does that say about me?  Mom?  Really?  Mom, what were you thinking?

Old Hat

You know how guys have lucky baseball caps?  I, too, have a lucky hat.  I've had it forever.  It's a lovely, little cloche hat that reminds me of the 1920s.  It's been with me every time something good has happened in my life.

The other day I was at Flor-Mart.  I was there to pick up a few odds and ends and check out the bargains.  I put my hat in my coat pocket.  I always put it there, in the same pocket.

After paying for my purchases, I reached into my pocket to find my hat and it was gone.  I felt my body get all tingly.  Where was it?  I searched both pockets, my purse, my bags, the floor around me.  No hat.  That's when I began to panic.

With my bags in hand I began running around the store like a mother searching for her lost child.  I retraced my footsteps.  I looked under things in case my hat fell and was kicked.  I looked everywhere.  Everywhere.  But I couldn't find it.

By this time, store security had found me and wondered what I was doing.  They were convinced I was attempting to shoplift.  I was taken in a backroom where they searched my purse, bags and pockets and patted me down.  I explained the situation to them.

One of the guards laughed.  "Why don't you buy a new hat?  You're at Flor-Mart.  Ten thousand square foot of every product under the sun."

I told them it was my lucky hat and I couldn't possibly ever replace it.  It was too precious to me.  Both guards laughed at me before telling me to leave the store.

I left with my heart heavy and my head hung low.