Wanted: Yellow Highlighters

Oprah is my hero, and when she had Steve Harvey on her show last week to promote his bestselling book "Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man," I put a post it note on my microwave to remind myself to rush out and buy it. I love a reason to go to Barnes & Noble (and not just because I get to visit with my old peeps!).

So, book in one hand this afternoon and one of Kylie's yellow markers in the other (my highlighters are in my work bag in the car), I dug in. And this book rocks. Chapter two talks about how a woman's love differs from a man's. Steve hit the nail on the head. Here is how he describes a woman's love:

"Nothing on this planet can compare with a woman's love--it is kind and compassionate, patient and nurturing, generous and sweet and unconditional.... If you are her man, she will walk on water and through a mountain for you, too, no matter how you've acted out, no matter the crazy thing you've done... And no matter what you do, no matter how many times her friends say you're no good, no matter how many times you slam the door on the relationship, she will give you her very best and then some, and keep right on trying to win over your heart, even when you act like everything she's done to convince you she's The One just isn't good enough."

Grief...I hope Kylie has more of those yellow markers!

You Just Never Know Where it's Been

Kylie, my almost 6-year old, is really into jewelry. She has oodles of it, ranging from bracelets to necklaces, the majority of it being very sparkly and bright. She will latch onto one piece every few days and wear it everywhere, not caring if it matches or not. Because she has to wear uniforms to school, this is the one way that she can express herself despite the white polos and khakis.

Her item of choice this week was a little stretchy flower bracelet. I don't even remember where it came from, but she loves it. After she came home from her dad's the other day, she ran to me in a panic, announcing that she could not find her favorite bracelet. Life as we knew it was clearly over. I told her that it was probably in the car, or it was in her bedroom somewhere amid the toys and books that litter the floor, or it was in my bedroom buried under the mountain of clothes that never get hung up. Quite simply, it would turn up.

Today, I decided to clean my apartment, something that really only happens once a week at best. I picked up Kylie's heavy winter coat from the living room floor, as it is 65 degrees right now, compared to the low 40s we had earlier in the week. Lo and behold, the bracelet fell out of the sleeve. I called to Kylie, who was upstairs playing in her room, that I had found her bracelet. I slipped it onto my arm while I was waiting for her to come and retrieve it. The bracelet was really cute and stretchy, after all.

Kylie bounded downstairs to get her jewels, and as she took it from me, she sweetly looked at me and said, "Mommy, did I tell you that the bracelet fell in the potty at school?" I replied, "What?! No, you didn't tell me that! Was there pee pee in the potty?" She looked completely bewildered that I had asked such a thing, and said, "Of course, Mommy!"

Gross!

My Brush With Celebrity

Anyone who knows me at all knows that I love Kelly Clarkson more than any other musician on the planet. Her "My December" album barely left my CD player for a year and a half, although I am apparently the only person on earth who likes it. Today, her fourth album dropped; I could barely sleep last night because I was so excited about having new tunes for the drive to work. I preordered it on itunes four days ago, which scored me three bonus tracks.

After blaring every song in my car for my hour commute to work this morning, I drove to Virginia with my district manager, Megan. Megan and I mesh like peanut butter and jelly (usually), so this was a pretty fun trip. On the almost two hour ride back to my store, I told Megan about my devotion to Kelly Clarkson and how I had burned the new CD this morning. Then she proceeded to tell me the following story:

About a year and a half or so ago, Megan flew out to Los Angeles to interview for her current position. While there, she was at a fancy schmancy restaurant with some colleagues, and they were all sitting around waiting for their reservation. While they were there, Megan found herself seated next to (who else?) my idol (no pun intended), Kelly Clarkson herself. Because Megan is much more mature and in control of herself than me, she didn't freak out and offer to lick the dirt off Kelly's shoes or anything weird like that. (As if some crazed weirdo would do such a thing...really.) Had she known that the biggest Kelly Clarkson fan on earth would work with her in less than two years, maybe she would have scored an autograph.

The moral of the story is that I sat in a car for four hours today with someone who once sat next to Kelly Clarkson in a restaurant.

My God, I think that practically makes me a celebrity.

Candy Hearts and a Phone Call

Late this evening at work, Hot Sunglasses Guy (the owner of the store directly across from me) came dashing into my store, looking a little out of breath and nervous. Being a Saturday night, we were pretty busy, and for whatever reason, my two associates and myself were having a pow-wow at the cashwrap in between customers. Hot Sunglasses Guy (aka Adam) randomly shuts the glass doors of his storefront and goes for a soda or whatever, which leaves us completely befuddled, as our blatant consideration of doing such a thing would earn us a hefty fine by mall security. But this was no drink run; he closed his doors to rush over to me.

Him: "Hey! What's your store phone number?" (He was about six or seven feet away from me, as I had a line of crazed teenagers purchasing tube tops and shorts. They weren't moving.)
Me: "My what? Store phone number? Um..." Insert complete brain fart here, as I was so surprised that the guy that I sneak glances at all day long was actually in my store and talking to me, that I forgot how to speak. Luckily, one of my associates recited it to him. (This is why every phone number that is important to me is stored in my cell phone. I can't remember anything. Today, I also briefly forgot what month it is.)
Me: "Why do you need my phone number?"
Him: "Oh, um, it's complicated...." He looked nervous again and rushed back to his store.

My coworkers and I were completely puzzled. It is no secret to anyone that works with me that I have equal imaginary relationships with both the Hot Sunglasses Guy and the Hot UPS Guy (in no particular order). I talk about them the way some people talk about their children. But I don't ever really expect anything to come of any of it. It's just one of those things that spices my work day up a little. The three of us tossed around a few ideas as to why he would possibly want our store phone number. We also wondered why he would have shut his doors in order to rush over and ask for it in person instead of calling the mall's customer service and asking for it. (After all, that's what I did when I needed the number to his store so that I could borrow ladders for our inventory. At least, that's why I told him I was calling.) We couldn't really come up with any good explanation.

Then, five minutes before closing, the phone rang. Trashod (part time associate) and I stared at it for what seemed like eternity before I made him answer it. Could it possibly be Hot Sunglasses Guy?! Yes, it was! I tried to be really nonchalant when I sauntered (yes, I sauntered) over to the phone. After all, if I had leapt over the counter and somersaulted to get to it like I really wanted to, he would have been able to see me through my storefront, and that would have been embarrassing.

Me: "Hello?"
Him: "Hi, it's Adam." (like I didn't know)
Me: "Oh, hi!" (pretend surprise...I hope it sounded halfway genuine)
Him: "You've been there all day, huh?"
Me: "Yeah, 1:30-ish." (I was still trying to figure out why he called, but was in no way eager to get off the phone)
Him: "You guys were pretty busy when I came over there."
Me: "Yup, Saturday rush." (blah, blah, blah...I was trying not to throw up because of my inability to carry on a decent conversation with a hot guy, especially when my two associates were watching me fumble for words)
Him: "Ok, well, I'll let you go. I just wanted to say hi."
Me: "Awww...I'm glad you did. See you Monday."

Then I hung up and peed myself a little.

A couple of weeks ago, I took this same guy some of my daughter's leftover Valentine's Day candy. It was the sweet tarts that had the sayings on them like "be mine" and "kiss me." I had an entire bag of them at my store, and we were all on such a sugar high from eating them all day that I had to get rid of them. Plus, it gave me an excuse to go talk to him. When he opened the little package, he took out the first candy heart and then promptly announced that he had to hug me because that's what the heart told him to do. And that's exactly what he did. And it rocked.

I think I can die just a little bit happier now.

He's A Perve

While going into the bank a couple of weeks ago for work, I passed a super hot guy using the ATM outside. His sandy blonde tossled hair made me think of Matthew McConaughey immediately. Yum. As I went into the lobby, I made sure to make eye contact with him (but not in a creepy way), and he said, "hi." Wow.

Once inside, I went through the commercial banking line, and I realized that Matthew McConaughey had also come in and was at the teller next to me. I heard her call him by name (Ryan). We walked out at the same time, and he held the door open for me. He commented, "You look great." But it wasn't in a weird "ew" kind of way; I took it as a compliment! In the parking lot, he asked me where I worked, and I shockingly told him (I never tell anyone where I work), to which he replied, "Well, maybe I'll see you later." I spent the rest of the day thinking that I haven't been hit on like that in a long time. Usually, men hit on me in the most disturbing way possible. For example, the guy at the perfume counter right outside of my store loudly grunts at me every time I walk by. Trust me, it's enough to make me rethink my daily Starbucks run.

Anyway, every time I pulled into the bank over the past couple of weeks, I kept hoping that I would run into him again. No luck. So yesterday morning, I worked up the nerve to ask the teller about him. I have decided that I have to take responsibility for my own dating success. I can't wait for Prince Charming to land on my doorstep. I leaned close to the counter and whispered to the teller that I had to ask her a question. I wanted to be discreet, just in case this guy turned out to be a flake. No need in spreading my personal life all over a place that I do business.

Me: You can't tell anyone that I'm asking you this. It's embarrassing.
Her: (looking nervous) Okay...
Me: A couple of weeks ago, I got hit on by a guy you know in the parking lot. His name is Ryan.
Her: (rolls her eys) Oh noooooo...
Me: (blushing already) Okay, nevermind...please don't tell me anything.
Her: He's a perve! Did you give him your number?
Me: No, I never give out my number. (actually, he didn't ask...) Pretend I didn't say anything. I'll take your word for it.
Her: Oh no, don't just take my word for it. (she pokes the teller next to her) You know that Ryan guy? What do you think of him?
2nd Teller: (also rolls her eyes) Oh, Lord...

I was so mortified. I couldn't get out of there fast enough.

So much for seeking Prince Charming out. Maybe I'll wait for him to drop on my doorstep after all.