Double Trouble
I took a half-day on Friday. As soon as my last conference call was over, I headed to the Legion of Honor to check out their brand new exhibit “After the Ruins, 1906 and 2006.” It’s a photographic retrospective comparing pictures after the devastation of the 1906 earthquake to current shots at those same locations today. It’s fascinating to look at what we know as Market Street, Union Square, the Cliff House side-by-side with these old, black-and-white photos. There’s a burnt out Union Square next to the Union Square of today with its numerous high rises. Then there’s grassy barren Golden Gate Park today next to a plot of land filled with rows of tents setup for people who had lost their homes because of the earthquake and subsequent fires.
But before I entered the exhibit, one of the security guards stopped me. “You come around here a lot, don’t you? I think I’ve even seen you several times at the De Young.”
“Yeah, I’m a member. Whenever I’m running around Golden Gate Park, I’ll pop into the De Young. And, well, I just love the Legion of Honor. This is a great permanent collection and their new exhibits are always impressive.”
He grinned. “I have seen you around, that’s for sure. You’ll really like this exhibit. It sure is interesting. How ‘bout this. Let me give you my card. You just let me know whenever you want someone to show you around.”
“Thanks,” I grinned back and pretended to carefully put his business card in my purse.
He was right; I really did enjoy the exhibit. When I was through, I scanned the crowd, and was relieved that he was nowhere in sight. I made my way back upstairs and took a stroll through the museum’s permanent collection.
Another security guard made his way over to me. “Howdy, Ma’am. How’s your day going? You having a good Friday?”
“Yes, thanks.” One security guard’s business card was enough. No need to rack up the digits. I figured, the less talking, the better. I continued on, strolling further away from him. After about twenty minutes, I had to backtrack and inevitably, came across him again. I tried to pass him slyly, but he wouldn’t have any of that.
He walked over to me. “Well, hey you’re back! Do you come around to this museum a lot?”
“Yeah, I’m a member.” Déjà vu over the course of what…one hour?!
He hands me his business card. “Would love to show you around next time you’re here.”
Well how about that! Next time I’m at the museum I can go on a double date, except it’ll just be me, escorted by two security guards—one on each arm.
2 security guards, 2 business cards, and 2 museums that I love. What are the chances that I can completely avoid these guys in the future? I say slim.
I read that there is this new book out (“The Year of Yes” by Maria Headley) about a single woman who decided that for a whole year, she would say ‘yes’ whenever she was asked out. She ended up dating over 100 people which I thought was radically high, but after my recent experiences, I think I could probably date that many people in a year as well.
I’m not ready to make a change to my plan, though. I think 2006 will be like all the previous years. The Year of No!
Can I See Your ID?
Tonight, I went to Reconciliation at my church for the Christmas season. The priest and I got to talking and he went on and on about “high school students, blah, blah, blah.” His niece is ‘my’ age and he knows from hanging out with her how hard it must be to grow up in this day and age, blah, blah, blah.
I just nodded in agreement, thinking, “Uhhh, high school was a long time ago for me.”
I’m often mistaken for being younger than I truly am. People make some really wild guesstimates.
One time I went to Church for my 28th birthday. When the Mass was over, the woman standing next to me, leaned over and beamed, “It’s so great to see an elementary school student here just by yourself, without your parents.” I was dumbfounded.
“Unh-unh,” I muttered. “Actually, I graduated from the high school ten years ago!”
That said, I’m used to getting stopped by security and carded.
When I started my new position as a product manager, I went with my manager to visit our client services team. They are in another building with strict security measures. My manager showed them her ID and started filling out paper work. I shuffled around my backpack looking for my wallet and ID. The security guard then said, “It’s OK, honey. As long as you’re with your mom, you’re fine.”
My manager looked up, bewildered. She’s tall, very fair, dirty blonde hair, and 37. “Did you say my daughter?” She was peeved.
I butted in. “Hi, I, uhhh, actually work for the bank. Here’s my ID.”
“I’M SO SORRY!” the security guard blurted. “You look so young!” She motioned toward my manager, “I wasn’t even paying attention to you.” She turned back to me, “I figured she was your mother, you look so young!” She waved at another security guard, “Angie, don’t this girl look young?”
Angie agreed. “Oh yeah, small little thing. You work for the bank? Jesus!”
Blurbs
To clarify the past posting: when I’ve gone on dates, one of two things happens. Either 1) the guy pays for me, or 2) we will split the bill down the middle to the penny. My point with the previous post was that even when a guy clearly gets more wine, more food, whatever…that in those instances where we’ve split the bill, a guy has never offered to pay what was fair.
Well, hallelujah praise the Lord, I went on a date today and the guy (gasp) paid! It was a lunch date at Ozumo’s–great restaurant, one of my favorites. The bill was pricey, I’m sure. Sparkling water, appetizers, bento boxes, and two glasses of wine. I was shocked when he grabbed the bill and took care of the whole thing. A total gentleman–I thought they’d gone extinct! I guess there are a few on the endangered list.
Anyhow, wanted to share an email that my friend Deonte sent me. It cracked me up when it came through on my blackberry. I haven’t seen him in a while and we’re trying to make some plans to get together.
“i know what u mean about hectic…i will be doing the opposite. I’ll b n NYC 4 christmas and LA 4 NYE, there is a SLIGHT chance that i will c u n the airport…ok who am i kiddin…it is a lot ezer 2 c a medium sized blk dude with dreads than it is 2 c a lil asian chick. we’ll do it n 06!”
Cheap Bastard
I went out with this guy the other night and things were going fine until (gasp) the bill came. Sure enough, we split the bill straight down the middle. Straight down the middle even though he had two glasses of wine and I had one. Even though he killed the appetizers and I just picked at them.
I don’t know what it is. Is it because I mentioned I bought a place here in the city? Is it because I work for a great company? Do these guys think I’m made out of money because I’m not! I’ve got a mortgage and a hefty student loan I’ll be paying until I retire.
What do I need to do these days to get a guy to pay? I’d even appreciate it if a guy says, “Hey let me pay more since I did get an extra glass of wine and I ate more than you.” But that has never ever happened to me and I’ve gone on a lot of dates.
Once again, he’s the one who asked me out. And again, I ended up subsidizing another guy’s night.
I’m not done yet. We got in a cab. Guess what happened. Yup, I PAID!!! He sat there futzing around in his wallet. I took a while as well, trying to “find” my wallet in my very well-organized purse. But he took even longer. There was clearly a wad of cash there. I was about to scream, “Look buddy, unless you’re counting out rupees or yuan, this shouldn’t be difficult.” I paid, of course, and decided at that moment that it wasn’t simply that I didn’t want to see him again…I really wanted to kill him.
Multi-Tasking in the Name of God
I’m a serious multi-tasker when I go to Church. I follow along with the readings, I sing, I say my own prayers, and I’ll usually bring ‘supplemental’ reading by Deepak Chopra or my favorite–Eckhart Tolle’s ‘The Power of Now.’
I went to Mass this evening and during the priest’s homily, I was reading the Church bulletin. Not too egregious in my opinion. At least it was the Church’s own collateral! But I felt really scummy when the priest looked straight at me, and there I was, reading the Church bulletin while he’s trying to get his message across. It was worse because I was sitting in the second row. During the winter time, I sit right up front because all the heat vents are concentrated near the altar.
Then I think the priest tried to get back at me. When it came time for the sign of peace, and he came over to greet me, instead of saying the expected “Peace be with you,” he yawned! In my face!
Now I don’t pretend to be a goody-two-shoed Catholic girl, but I ain’t no Sinead O’Connor either! Cut me some slack.
Nevertheless, I need to go to confession pronto. Christmas is coming and I don’t want Santa to think I’ve been a bad little girl.
