Maybe I can write more from the playa?!?!
xoxo,
catherine
Posted on August 19, 2008 // Leave a Comment
Lions and Tigers and Brazilians, Oh My
Posted on August 17, 2008 // Leave a Comment
I’ve had a handful of Brazilians by now. Definitely less than 5. They’re no less painful each time. But I’m so cheap, I’ve always gotten them at cheapy nail salons. The last time I found the highest rated woman on Yelp only to get three patches of skin ripped off my cooch. If I hadn’t left on a plane the next day, I would have high-tailed it to her salon to give her a verbal lashing. She was lucky.
I’m off to the desert for Burning Man soon and ready to take it all off. This time, I wasn’t taking any chances. I booked an appointment at Marilyn Jaeger Skincare Studio in Laurel Heights. Yes, it’s expensive. But I was certain they wouldn’t do me wrong. They didn’t.
I arrived at my Friday 5:30 appointment and was greeted with, “We’re so sorry. We’re running about 15 minutes late. Is that ok?” Fine by me. What I like about their studio are all the waiting room amenities: high-end tea, Mona Vie anti-oxidant potion, sangria, and assorted wines. I was in heaven. What a relaxing way to end my work week, overlooking San Francisco, reading fashion magazines, and drinking wine! It was better than reading a book on my couch at home. The time went by quickly, but it was 45 minutes instead of 15.
My aesthetician came out, apologizing profusely. The Brazilian was still painful, but she tried to be as careful as possible. Plus, she cleaned me up, making sure that any remnants of wax were off my skin. The other places I’ve been could care less and I always find myself peeling out of my clothes later on.
When I got to the reception area to pay, the attendant said, “We’re going to comp your service today. We’re really sorry about that. The owner feels so bad that she’d like to perform a glycolic peel facial for you–on the house–whenever is convenient for you.” Wow, that is service. You really do get what you pay for. Lucky for me, I didn’t have to pay.
While I learned a valuable lesson about customer service that day, I realized…I am so over Brazilians. Why? I don’t wax my legs or my armpits. What’s wrong with shaving? I don’t believe the ingrown hair bullshit. I’ve never in my life had one of those.
Posted on August 16, 2008 // Leave a Comment
Match #1: The Reversal
Posted on August 15, 2008 // Leave a Comment
“Do you not like me?”
I looked up and scrunched my eyebrows toward my eyes. ”What do you mean? Of course I like you. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t like you.” I rolled my eyes.
“Well we’ve gone out several times now and…I don’t know. You’re so hard to read. We haven’t even kissed.” He looked hurt.
“I’m sorry, Bill. I guess I just take a long time to warm up. I’m not like those other sluts that you date.” I laughed. He still looked hurt. I started to walk away. We had just finished having drinks at Solstice in my neighborhood. He was fun to be with, I just didn’t feel the attraction. If I had, I certainly would have kissed him on the first date. ”Call me, ok?” He watched me walk further down the block. I called out again, “Don’t forget to call me. I want you to!”
Two weeks later, the tables had turned. I watched him cook me dinner while I sat at his dining room table reading the Wall Street Journal. ”How was your day, honey? You stay there. Let me get you a glass of wine.” I smiled. He was such a nice guy. Then dinner came out and I liked him even more: salad, spicy ravioli, and home-made garlic bread. I headed out to his beach house in Stinson for the weekend and fell in love. I watched him make dinner again. He focused on the smallest details like making sure the wine was chilled, hunting for his toaster oven to toast the french bread that I had brought. I looked over at him in the kitchen, multi-tasking, while I sat on his couch reading and I wanted to cry. He saw me look up at him and I smiled. My eyes were glistening.
Maybe it was then that the tables turned. He was no longer in love with me. The phone calls stopped. The emails in the middle of the day stopped, too. So did the text messages. And almost immediately, my heart caved in. ”Oh God, please. Please don’t let this happen to me again. Why? Why do they stop loving me?”
More than a week had passed since I heard from him. Probably ten days. I called my matchmaker in a panic. ”Amy. Amy, I haven’t heard from Bill. Have you heard from him?”
“No, Catherine. I haven’t. He’s probably really busy. He is always very difficult for me to track down.”
I asked for advice. She was on it. ”Here’s what you do. Ok. How about this? ’I've been so missing you!!! I have tickets for blah, blah, blah on Friday. Was wondering if you want to join me?’ Don’t ask why he hasn’t called. Be perky, be happy, and see what happens.”
I chickened out. I couldn’t call. I sent an email. He was enthusiastic, said he had been busy.
In my mind, if someone likes you, they show it. And I just haven’t felt it in several weeks. I had killed it off, but then decided that that has been a long-standing problem with my relationships. Ending things so decidedly, so quickly. So I’m trying, but it’s tough.
Hence, the Bachelorette.
Posted on August 12, 2008 // Leave a Comment
The Bachelorette
Posted on August 12, 2008 // 1 Comment
It wasn’t about me and why I want to be the Bachelorette. I get it. I’m a business woman. My presentation touched on this Nerdy Cheerleader theme and how if they selected me, I would make sure that every attendee felt welcome and felt like they were getting attention. I offered to write personal emails that night to each guy which would further incent me to get to know them on a personal level. Also, it would help with brand recognition by emphasizing, “Thank you for coming to tonight’s Linx Bachelorette event.”
But the second half of my presentation talked about what kind of return on investment they would get if they selected me. I talked about my vast network, potential clients they could count on, how I had numerous friends watching how my experience would play out, wondering whether or not they should spend the money to join. I included testimonials (Ex-Boyfriends #1-3 “Catherine is hot.”). It was funny, spirited, and it made a point. I doubt anyone put the kind of effort and organization that I did into their pitches.
I had them speechless by the time I finished. I had wowed them. All the interviewers smiled and agreed, “You’re it. You’re our bachelorette. Let’s talk details.”
Posted on August 11, 2008 // Leave a Comment
Nerdy Cheerleader
Posted on August 11, 2008 // Leave a Comment
When I fell into my depressed state earlier in the week, everything started to spiral out of control. My body was out of wack. I wasn’t hungry. Me—someone who can’t go more than a few hours without eating. I don’t lose weight nor do I gain weight. I always stay within a two pound range, but I started to lose weight rapidly. I got down to my high school weight. I couldn’t sleep even with Ambien. I woke up intermittently throughout the night, sometimes jolting out of bed, crying out, “Why does shit like this always happen to me?” I couldn’t focus at all. I stared at analyst reports at work with eyes glazed over. I wasn’t really reading anything. I just stared and zoned into the tables. My head was in the clouds. I couldn’t wait to get home so I could sulk alone without people whizzing by my desk. I thought about taking a day or two off, but I knew that would only make things worse. I saw myself in bed, drugged out on a couple pills of Ambien, trying to sleep the pain away. At least in the office, I could pretend to be ok. I could answer questions, make a few phone calls, check the stock price…do something. At least I was doing something.
During all this, I thought about the Bachelorette interview. It had been scheduled at least three weeks in advance. It had been confirmed twice by each side (twice by the matchmaker and twice again by me). ”Just want to confirm that you’ll be at the interview on Wednesday at 7pm. Please don’t be late as you only have 25 minutes to pitch why you should be the inaugural VIP.” I didn’t have it in me, but I couldn’t cancel so close to the interview. I didn’t want my matchmaker to think I was a flake. I wasn’t a flake! I needed to pull myself together and get back to my normal self.
So I did. I started to focus my energy on the interview. Why should I be the Bachelorette? What messages would I try to convey about myself? The creativity emerged. I started writing down ideas, brainstorming. Then I started organizing my thoughts. I wanted to be prepared. I wanted to be different. Even if I didn’t get the position, I wanted the interviewers to think that I was a dynamo, that I gave it my all, that I don’t do anything half ass. Day by day, I honed in on an almost perfect pitch.
The day of my interview, I left work early. I came home, showered, and got ready. We were asked to come dressed sexy and sassy a la Sex and the City. I wore a burgundy form-fitting dress I had purchased at a lingerie store in NYC a couple weeks before. Primped and ready, I drove down to Palo Alto. I was calm and collected, practicing my presentation in my head while driving. No NPR, no music…it was all about the Bachelorette. I was confident. I felt good. I looked good.
I had allowed myself plenty of time to get there. 90 minutes. But there must have been an accident. Traffic was completely frustrating. I started to hyperventilate. I was three exits away, but stuck practically in a parking lot on 101 South. 6:45. My appointment was at 7:00. My heart started beating furiously. I’m never late…ever. I only had 25 minutes to present. I started to think of my options. What portions of my presentation would I cut out? Should I call my matchmaker and tell her I was stuck in traffic and probably wouldn’t make it in time? Could I possibly reschedule? Desperate, I maneuvered myself into the very right lane, then drove hurriedly down the shoulder. ”Oh God,” I whispered. ”This is so bad.” I gripped the steering wheel; my knuckles whitened.
Calmness turned into anxiety as I sped to the wine bar. I leapfrogged past cars. I didn’t wait for pedestrians to make their way across the street. It was 7:01 exactly as I pulled in front of the wine bar and parked in a red zone. Oh well. I can’t get towed within a 25-minute timeframe. Besides, I’ll watch my car from the window.
I flew into the bar and spotted my matchmaker with her two interviewers beside her. I was a little perplexed to be interviewing in the middle of the bar with throngs of people milling about. How would they be able to hear me clearly? I told them my circumstances, how I’d just driven two miles on the freeway shoulder to get to them in time. They told me to take a deep breath and relax. They each had to take a break and run to the restroom anyway. My matchmaker even returned with a bottle of wine for the three of us to share.
With all of us settled, she started. ”Well, Catherine, you know what this is about. If you could simply go ahead and pitch why you think you should be selected our inaugural VIP Bachelorette.”
“Well, I thought I’d start out with a story.”
“I love stories!” One of the interviewers exclaimed. ”Go for it.”
“I think this story gives the best background on who I am as a person and will help frame why I’m here talking to you.
“I started high school a total dork. I was short, skinny. I had braces, acne. I wasn’t attractive. And I was a nerd, the teachers’ pet. I had friends in elementary school, but once I got to high school, it all changed. When you make that transition, kids are trying to figure out who they’re going to befriend and what cliques they’re going to be a part of. I didn’t have any value add, I guess, unless you needed help with homework. I didn’t have any friends. I distinctly remember sitting in the quad or the cafeteria, eating lunch alone because no one wanted to sit by me. I was so embarrassed I skipped lunch altogether and sat in the library studying which propagated my nerd image. I figured I was going to be that girl who hated her high school experience. That was going to be me. No friends, a loner, just a dork.
“Then cheerleading tryouts came around and I thought, ‘I could do this. I can dance. Maybe this is my chance.’ The cheerleaders were pretty and popular. Everyone liked them. They had tons of friends. They were the high school darlings. They dated the athletes. They were fun and fabulous. Tryouts lasted a full week. We had to learn routines, perform the routines in front of judges. We came up with our own routine, performed that in front of the judges. After the week was over, the following Monday afternoon after classes were done, the judges called us into a room where they announced the squad.
‘We all know that you put a lot of work and effort into these tryouts, but there are only so many positions and it was especially tough this year. We are going to call out the names of the squad now. If you don’t hear your name…again, I want to thank you all for giving it your best. The following people will be our Junior Varsity cheerleading squad.’ I breathed out and said a little prayer. All the names were announced. Mine wasn’t called. I sighed, but was surprisingly not too disappointed. I was proud of myself. I’d made friends. People didn’t think I was a dork anymore. It was good. It was a really good experience. I was happy I did it.
‘Next I’m going to call out the names of our Varsity cheerleading squad.’ All the names were announced. I was already packing up my things, getting ready to exit the classroom as girls congratulated one another. Some looked disappointed. One girl called out, ‘Not fair. So not fair.’
“Then the judge had a final announcement. ’For the first time in our history, we’re going to name a freshman to our Varsity squad. And that person is Catherine Gacad. Congratulations.’
“I was shocked. I wasn’t even happy. It didn’t register. I couldn’t believe it.
“The next day, classmates cheered me on when I walked into class. Here I was representing my class and I’d accomplished an unbelievable feat. Everyone was so proud of me, happy for me. Overnight, I became popular. Finally, I could eat! I could sit in the quad or the cafeteria and I didn’t have to sit alone. People would congregate around me. But the main point of my story is this…I never forgot what it felt like to be alone. So I would spot people out of the corner of my eye sitting alone and I’d run up and grab them by the arm, ‘Gavin! What are you doing? Come over here and sit by me, silly!’ And I’d stop by the library and say, ‘People, it is so nice outside. Come on out. I want you all to come out and join me on the grass.’
“And with that story, I think you have a good background on who I am as a person. So now I’d like to launch into this PowerPoint presentation I created.”
The interviewers expected a quick pitch. Similar to my shock when I was announced a cheerleader, their eyes widened as I handed each of them a copy of my presentation.
The VIP Bachelorette: Catherine Gacad
Posted on August 11, 2008 // Leave a Comment
