Doors and Windows

My stomach dropped. It's the only way I can explain it. I read the email, and my stomach plummeted; not because it was bad news, but because an invitation had been issued by a very kind person, and I had a feeling I wouldn't be avoiding it this time.

Pen: "You have to go with her."

Kate: "I can't."

Pen: "You're an idiot."

Kate: "I know."

Pen: "This collision has been coming for a while, and eventually the Universe is going to stop giving you these chances."

Kate: "I know."

Pen: "Are you going?"

Kate: "No."

Pen: "Pathetic."

Kate: "Is that a clinical term?"

Pen: "Yes. Now either say you are going, or get out of my office."

Kate: "No."

(Pen bangs head on desk)

That exchange was more or less what took place immediately following the receipt of the invitation. You see, apparently people react with excitement when opportunity knocks. When opportunity knocks on my door, I dive out the window… run down the block… get on a boat… find an isolated island and pretend like I never knew the opportunity existed. Avoidance, thy name is Kate.

It's not that it wasn't something I wanted. Deep down, I had wanted this chance for years. But I wanted to control it. I wanted to be seen as a professional. I wanted to at least seem like a calm, collected peer. I wanted to appear not like some cloying sycophant, but as a reasoned individual with something to offer. And I was convinced that all other opportunities would come crashing to a halt if I pursued an avenue that wasn't the "perfect" meeting, "perfect" scenario, "perfect" conversation, "perfect" opening line, "perfect"… "perfect"… "perfect"…

Not surprisingly, "perfect" never came. I passed up opportunity after opportunity because my immediate inclination was to choose fear instead. Fear, I understand. Fear, I can plan for. Fear, I can worry about until every angle is covered. Fear is infinitely more familiar. Worry has become comfortable.

Possibility, on the other hand, almost made me sick.

And then for no reason I can explain, I was suddenly getting the day off from work. I was saying, "yes".

Before I knew it, I was standing there looking out at the ocean and wondering what the hell I had done—and was there any way to undo it. Had I been alone, I probably would have run.

Deep breath.

Waves crashing.

Head turning.

 

 

 

 

 

"Hi. I'm David."

That's a Maybe

I’m on a quest to find a dress for my friend L’s wedding. The wedding is Saturday. I may be in trouble.

It’s not that I procrastinated. I’ve gone shopping. However, in the back of my mind I felt secure in the knowledge that I had the perfect fallback option already in my closet. It’s a lovely blue silk dress that has worked the wedding circuit a couple of times before. Also, a friend assured me that adding a little jewelry would mean that something semi-formal could work with whatever “black tie optional” means in Los Angeles (I secretly think it means that jeans that aren’t distressed are ok). So, my shopping wasn’t as dedicated as it might have been had I not had this fabulous reserve (and credit card free) option at home.

Probably should have tried the dress on before blithely embracing the wine and cheese.

I don’t know if you guys know this, but apparently, just because a dress used to fit you, it does not necessarily follow that it will still fit you after a steady diet of glorious red velvet cupcakes and maple cheese. I feel betrayed by fallback dress, and refuse to take any responsibility in this travesty of justice.

Fine.

How hard can it be for me to find an appropriate dress in a city this large during the month that is famous for weddings?

Well, if L could please change her wedding theme to disco night, I’d be set! For instance, this little number screams wedding to me:

Oddly enough, it seems to match my hair color right now. It was pointed out to me by CB that it might be a bit too "matchy-matchy" for me, and she could be on to something. Otherwise, this would clearly be perfect... for New Year's.

Nautical could be good. I'm pretty sure the stripes would make me look enormous, but I could rock the hell out of those epaulets.



Also, they are very pointy which means I could defend myself with my lethal shoulders in case one of the groomsmen tries to get fresh!

How about this one? I know people who can make a dress like this work. They are 6'2" model types, and would look fabulous in this. Also, Joan Collins could make this sing (because, really, it says Dynasty sweeps episode all over it).



Sadly, I am neither Joan, nor a 6'2" model... or a 5'2" model. When the mannequin wearing it is taller than you are and wearing a size zero with fabric brushing the floor, you know it's a losing battle.

It appears as though dresses that harken back to either "the oldest profession" or the Ice Capades are very popular right now. And really, brides should take this into consideration and just add the words "on ice" to their wedding planning.

The good news is, the bride has assured me that looking like a whore will be fine as long as I don't wear white. Fair enough, though she has asked me to leave my skates at home. Whatever.

Despite the dress drama, I'm really looking forward to seeing Lauren and Brian tie the knot on Saturday. It has been a long, long, long, long time coming, and they give me hope. If they could also give me a table full of single, straight, employed men who shower, that would also be lovely.

Kate