Charming, but single

A journal in dates and drinks


Showing my ass (literally)

So, I finally returned from days of out-of-town meetings where I ate much unhealthy food and spent far too many hours in a car. I was tired and touch cranky when I finally made it back to the office to return my work-issue car and retrieve my less clean personal one. I was ready to go home. I. Wanted. To. Be. Left. Alone. I wanted my PJs and fuzzy slippers, my couch and a glass of wine, my puppy and The Apprentice. (The Donald understands what it's like to be beat-down tired from days of on-the-road work stuff.)
About halfway home from work, I reached for my cell phone to make a few calls. It wasn't in my huge, suitcaselike purse. It wasn't in my laptop case. It wasn't in my car's console.
I was perplexed.
I got home and I dumped out my purse and my laptop case (I removed the laptop first, natch.) I called my phone and listened for it. Nothing.
Then I flew into a rage and pitched a fit worthy of a five year old. I could not believe I had left my phone in the other car, which I was just SURE was scheduled for another trip the next day. I got myself all worked up about how I wasn't going to get my phone back for days and days. I pouted all evening and not even The Donald could make me feel better. (I mean, why didn't he just fire Chris and Angie? They both suck. How is Chris still on this show? Also, I didn't like either John or Michael, but those boys were hot. Totally my type. Wouldn't kick either of them out of bed for eating crackers. Mmmmmm.)
So this morning I get up and put on a cute flirty skirt for casual day. I slid on fun little sandals and a comfy, yet cute, black shirt. I have resigned myself to the fact that I'm going to have to beg for the keys to the car so that I can search for my beloved phone. I am going to look like a fool, but at least I'll have my phone back.
Before I go beg for the keys, I go to the lot where the cars are and look through the windows of three identical cars for my phone.
It's not there. I looked in every similar-looking car and I see nothing. I contemplate banging my head on the concrete. I wonder why I didn't get the insurance on my cell phone. I calculate the actual cost of a new one, not to mention the other costs, such as lost numbers and time spent in the Cingular store.
I want to cry.
Instead, I go back to search my own car. I open up the passenger side and I start looking under seats and in crannies. It is simply not reasonable that I can NOT find this phone.
As I'm leaned over into the car, a HUGE gust of wind comes from behind me and blows my cute flirty skirt up in the air, leaving my ass out in the middle of the world for all to see. The red boyshort panties that were giving me a major wedgie? TOTALLY EXPOSED. The parking lot runs parallel to several buildings. So, even if no one else in the lot saw me, I am quite certain some lucky window-office-having people did.
That was it.
I plopped down in the passenger side of my car, completely dejected, wondering how it is that I managed to even survive until age 25 when I seem to lack some basic skills of a responsible person. I wonder if things like mooning my office building are as cute in real life as they are in cheesy romantic comedy.
I had tons of e-mail and work piling up in my office, but I just felt like a total moron who is incapable of actually being an adult. I wondered if I had enough leave to take a mental health day. I was overreacting because I was tired from all of the driving and waking up at 4:45 a.m. and not getting home until late each evening and paying attention in meetings and being on my best behavior around work people, but I didn't care. At that moment, I felt like a complete loser who had the same dumb problems as a high schooler.
As I went to get in the driver side of my car, I noticed something on the ground about 15 feet away. Something silver and sort of shiny.
It's my damn cell phone, sitting in the parking spot where I had dropped off the car yesterday, right by the driver side door, where I obviously dropped it. It hadn't been run over or stolen. In fact, it still worked and had battery power. I had a couple of missed calls, but none too important.
I grabbed the phone, parked my car in the employee lot and came up to the office.
I may not be the most responsible of adults, but at least it somehow all works out in the end.



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Charming, but single is 25 26 27(!), lives in the Southern part of the U.S.A. and likes both her drinks and her boys tall. E-mail (listed below) her and she may respond. You can also IM her in AIM/AOL. (If she ever remembers to sign on.)
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Former taglines of this blog: "A Journal in Dates and Drinks" and "A Dateless Journal of Drinking."




Those Particulars
Some Backstory
Memories of the Way We Were
Updates and Towel Snapping
One Year Wrap-Up
Just As She Is
An Open Letter to Myself
After 26 years, she HAS learned something
An Open Letter to the Men Who Message Me Through Match
Sharing a smoke



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