My alarm clock started rudely blaring at me around 6 a.m. and I blindly felt around in my sheets for whichever secret spot my iPhone had managed to wedge itself into while I was asleep. Stop the noise! I finally found the device in question, and pressed on all of the buttons simultaneously until one of them made the noise quit.
Every Tuesday and Friday I ambitiously set my alarm for 6 a.m. with the hopes of getting my butt to the morning yoga class at 6:30, but I only actually made it there about twice a month. The pounding behind my eyes was telling me today would not be one of those times. I pulled the covers over my head and tried to block out the faint rays of light beginning to stream into my room. Ash and I had downed two bottles of wine the night before, and my 24-year-old ass just could not hang like I used to in college. Somewhere out there, 21-year-old me was rolling her eyes at my lameness.
I drifted off until my second - much more reasonably scheduled - alarm alerted me to the fact that it really was time to get out of bed. I trudged to the kitchen and found my fridge in it’s usual state - leftover pizza, vodka, wine and miscellaneous possibly molding vegetables. Looks like a trip to the shady bodega for a bagel was in order this morning. I managed to shower and pull together an outfit before skirting out the door at 8 on the nose.
Five minutes after I got to work, I was still defrosting my toes by my illegal space heater when Elena plopped a hot coffee on my desk.
“I love you” I said, reaching for the steaming cup of goodness. When people talk about how they’re addicted to caffeine, I always try to ride my high horse and say I’ve managed to avoid that habit - but I’m so full of crap. The stuff is liquid gold.
“Are you getting excited for tonight?” Elena asked, sweeping her shiny brunette locks over one shoulder. She was the spitting image of a young Julia Roberts - think circa Pretty Woman minus the wig (best movie ever, right?) - but refused to believe me whenever I said so.
“Yes, minus the fact that this weather is severely limiting my clothing options,” I whined. If you’re reading this, mother nature, the entire Northeast is over your tricks. Give us sun or give us death!
Tonight was a big birthday party for one of our coworkers, Jeff. He’s a ridiculously cute playboy who was ushering in his quarter century birthday with a huge bash at a fancy club in the meatpacking district.
“I hear you. If I ruin one more pair of suede boots, I’m going to kill someone,” Elena said while crossing her legs. “But it’s going to be so fun, I haven’t had a good night out in ages.” Elena had been single since I met her, and in that time I hadn’t so much as heard a peep about dating anyone. And in the handful of times we had gone out together, she seemed to mostly ignore the thousands (okay dozens) of advances guys had made on her. I was beginning to think she was saving herself for marriage or something. Which would be a complete waste, because aside from having an amazing body, she was one of the nicest and funnest people I knew.
“Want to come to my place beforehand for a little pregame and outfit helping sesh?” I suggested.
“Absolutely. I’ll bring the vino,” Elena slid off my desk and walked a few cubicles down to her own. I turned my attention to my piling email, and spent the next six hours getting lost in grammar edits, social media monitoring and meetings.
Around 3 p.m., one of the receptionists showed up at my desk holding an absurdly large floral arrangement. “Danielle, these came for you,” she said, placing the monstrosity on my desk.
“Oh! No, I think you’re wrong sorry.” I mentally did a checklist. It wasn’t my birthday, Christmas or any other myriad occasion that would warrant a flower delivery. Additionally, I was super single. These were totally meant for the taller, hotter Danielle in Finance who as of lately, had been rocking some major engagement bling.
“It says Danielle Fitzgerald. You’re Danielle Fitzgerald.” She turned on her heel and walked away. Well ex-cuuuse me.
I peered suspiciously at the arrangement, worried they were going to explode (okay maybe I’d been watching too much Scandal lately). Spotting the edge of a white card peeking out from under a red carnation, I extracted it and immediately regretted it. Nick’s unmistakable handwriting had scrawled simply the letter D across the front. Shit. My freshly-mended heart could not handle this kind of abuse. I gingerly opened the tiny envelope and pulled out a note. The card held just three words: I miss you.
"What?" I scoffed a little. Who was he to think he didn’t even have to sign it! For all he knows, I have thousands of gentlemen callers all over Manhattan missin’ the crap out of me! Okay, really the only person who ever missed me was Chang, the owner of my Chinese take out place when I went on a random health stint and stopped ordering from them. But still.
I shoved the card into my desk drawer and pushed the offending flowers as far to the edge of my desk that would allow. WTF? I contemplated texting him, but when I realized I wasn’t sure if I should thank him or berate him, I decided against it. I didn’t want our first real communication in months to be “Thanks for the flowers, you asshatted buttface”. I turned to the pile of busy work I had been putting off all week, and threw myself into it for a distraction. Just a few more hours until I could drink away any thoughts of Nick.
Ed note: I think I'm going to work on a Wednesday/Friday schedule, does that work for everyone? Hope you're enjoying it!
Every Tuesday and Friday I ambitiously set my alarm for 6 a.m. with the hopes of getting my butt to the morning yoga class at 6:30, but I only actually made it there about twice a month. The pounding behind my eyes was telling me today would not be one of those times. I pulled the covers over my head and tried to block out the faint rays of light beginning to stream into my room. Ash and I had downed two bottles of wine the night before, and my 24-year-old ass just could not hang like I used to in college. Somewhere out there, 21-year-old me was rolling her eyes at my lameness.
I drifted off until my second - much more reasonably scheduled - alarm alerted me to the fact that it really was time to get out of bed. I trudged to the kitchen and found my fridge in it’s usual state - leftover pizza, vodka, wine and miscellaneous possibly molding vegetables. Looks like a trip to the shady bodega for a bagel was in order this morning. I managed to shower and pull together an outfit before skirting out the door at 8 on the nose.
Five minutes after I got to work, I was still defrosting my toes by my illegal space heater when Elena plopped a hot coffee on my desk.
“I love you” I said, reaching for the steaming cup of goodness. When people talk about how they’re addicted to caffeine, I always try to ride my high horse and say I’ve managed to avoid that habit - but I’m so full of crap. The stuff is liquid gold.
“Are you getting excited for tonight?” Elena asked, sweeping her shiny brunette locks over one shoulder. She was the spitting image of a young Julia Roberts - think circa Pretty Woman minus the wig (best movie ever, right?) - but refused to believe me whenever I said so.
“Yes, minus the fact that this weather is severely limiting my clothing options,” I whined. If you’re reading this, mother nature, the entire Northeast is over your tricks. Give us sun or give us death!
Tonight was a big birthday party for one of our coworkers, Jeff. He’s a ridiculously cute playboy who was ushering in his quarter century birthday with a huge bash at a fancy club in the meatpacking district.
“I hear you. If I ruin one more pair of suede boots, I’m going to kill someone,” Elena said while crossing her legs. “But it’s going to be so fun, I haven’t had a good night out in ages.” Elena had been single since I met her, and in that time I hadn’t so much as heard a peep about dating anyone. And in the handful of times we had gone out together, she seemed to mostly ignore the thousands (okay dozens) of advances guys had made on her. I was beginning to think she was saving herself for marriage or something. Which would be a complete waste, because aside from having an amazing body, she was one of the nicest and funnest people I knew.
“Want to come to my place beforehand for a little pregame and outfit helping sesh?” I suggested.
“Absolutely. I’ll bring the vino,” Elena slid off my desk and walked a few cubicles down to her own. I turned my attention to my piling email, and spent the next six hours getting lost in grammar edits, social media monitoring and meetings.
Around 3 p.m., one of the receptionists showed up at my desk holding an absurdly large floral arrangement. “Danielle, these came for you,” she said, placing the monstrosity on my desk.
“Oh! No, I think you’re wrong sorry.” I mentally did a checklist. It wasn’t my birthday, Christmas or any other myriad occasion that would warrant a flower delivery. Additionally, I was super single. These were totally meant for the taller, hotter Danielle in Finance who as of lately, had been rocking some major engagement bling.
“It says Danielle Fitzgerald. You’re Danielle Fitzgerald.” She turned on her heel and walked away. Well ex-cuuuse me.
I peered suspiciously at the arrangement, worried they were going to explode (okay maybe I’d been watching too much Scandal lately). Spotting the edge of a white card peeking out from under a red carnation, I extracted it and immediately regretted it. Nick’s unmistakable handwriting had scrawled simply the letter D across the front. Shit. My freshly-mended heart could not handle this kind of abuse. I gingerly opened the tiny envelope and pulled out a note. The card held just three words: I miss you.
"What?" I scoffed a little. Who was he to think he didn’t even have to sign it! For all he knows, I have thousands of gentlemen callers all over Manhattan missin’ the crap out of me! Okay, really the only person who ever missed me was Chang, the owner of my Chinese take out place when I went on a random health stint and stopped ordering from them. But still.
I shoved the card into my desk drawer and pushed the offending flowers as far to the edge of my desk that would allow. WTF? I contemplated texting him, but when I realized I wasn’t sure if I should thank him or berate him, I decided against it. I didn’t want our first real communication in months to be “Thanks for the flowers, you asshatted buttface”. I turned to the pile of busy work I had been putting off all week, and threw myself into it for a distraction. Just a few more hours until I could drink away any thoughts of Nick.
Ed note: I think I'm going to work on a Wednesday/Friday schedule, does that work for everyone? Hope you're enjoying it!
An interesting start. Will be nice getting to know Dani and her attempts to move on from her asshat former boyfriend. lol
ReplyDeleteIt's definitely going to get interesting! Stay tuned :)
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