So it's been a hellish week at work: the economy blows, every time I cold call for new business the VP tells me 'no' and I'm the scapegoat in the office that everyone likes to crack on because they think I can "take it". But you can pretty much say that I'm a candy Peep in May: stale and crispy on the outside but the marshmallow center is a bit chewy and still soft...aka I cried at work like a pansy because I couldn't take it. SO I get my shit together to bust out of the door at 6:00p.m. (early for me) and grab the change of clothes that I packed the morning of. I'm in the bathroom changing out of the brown tweed suit that I've worn all day before I realize that I left the shirt I'd picked out to wear on my bed at home... typical. But, as the eternal optimist, I think on the bright side and realize that I now have an excuse to go shopping before meeting up with my father and sister for dinner. Lucky me, they are busy rubbing elbows and hob-nobbin' it with the city's wealthy esquires at Anthony's Pier 4 and wont be on Newbury Street for another 45 minutes. I turn on Newbury Street and fate have it, like Moses parting the Red Sea, there is a space smack-dab in front of the store that is every 20 something's mecca for cheap shopping: H&M.
I prance in the store, get lost in the inexpensive faux designer studs and settle on a shirt from the $5 rack, 2 pashminas and a gold necklace that's a turn-table (Sar...I'll buy you one...it's amazing!). Alison and Dad pull up right as I'm checking out and off we go to eat overpriced entrees at Capital Grill. Being a family of frugalness, we find a clutch spot at a meter near The Other Side and start walking toward the restaurant. About halfway down the street there is some familiar looking guy walking towards Alison and I on the way to check the meter/parking signs on the street when both of us realize that he's familiar because he's Christopher Knight (aka Peter Brady, aka married to Adrienne Curry via the VH1 reality show "My Fair Brady"). The first thought that ran through my head was "Oh shit....it's Chris Knight!!" The 2nd thought was "what the hell is he doing bargain parking??? Don't famous people use valet?" Alison and I had a joyous moment over our Boston celebrity sighting and contemplated alerting TMZ before we realized that they wouldn't really give a crap.
At dinner, I wine and dine with the best of them at Capital Grille, order disgusting amounts of food and watch my sister shamelessly flirt with our waiter. Now, every since I was 17 I teased my sisters that she was destined to married a bald guy. Despite the fact that she gets super pissed, I wholeheartedly feel that this is indeed a fact. So when she decides that she has a crush on our incredibly sarcastic, extremely attentive and very bald waiter, I can't help but feel that I am witnessing destiny in the making. Fully knowing the fact that my sister will never act on this opportune situation, I decide to step in on her behalf and write her name, number and email address down on a business card and sneak it into the billfold while Alison is in the bathroom. I decide not to tell her what I've done until we're walking towards the car so that she doesn't have the chance to go back and take the card. No more than 20 minutes after we leave, Alison gets a text message from her future husband and they decide to set a tentative date for next week. Holla! I decide to pat myself on the back for the potential success as a matchmaker. Shit, I should just quit my recruiting job now and take the place of that hideous chick on Bravo's Millionaire Matchmaker and become a reality TV star for my undeserving talent! Can you say cha-ching?
But I quickly come down from my high horse as I climb into big empty bed with nothing to cuddle up with except my copy of Eclipse, the 3rd book in the Twilight series that is popular amongst middle schoolers...(damn, if only I had a vampire boyfriend who is eternally 17).
Thus, we come to an end of just another Thursday in Boston.
Peace, Love and the Celtics,
Lauren
1 comment:
HA! matchmaker, matchmaker... there need to be more lauren moreau's in the world. good work!
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