by Beau, Jodie
Another thing different about Manhattan shopping is that there aren’t any gigantic all-in-one mass merchandisers like Wal-Mart, Meijer, Target, etc. If you needed shampoo or Tylenol, you went to a drug store. If you needed lunch meat, you went to a deli. Bread – bakery. Produce – Farmer’s market. And so on.
Walking into Meijer for the first time in many years was an experience. They had groceries, of course, but also toys, home goods, appliances, a nail salon, a hair salon, a fast-food restaurant, a deli, a bakery, a bank and even an auto department. An auto department in the grocery store! The whole thing blew my mind.
Jake thought it was funny I was so excited to be at Meijer. He also thought it was crazy to have groceries delivered.
“So you just call them up and read them your list?”
“No, I ordered online. It’s easier than talking on the phone. A lot of people speak broken English there,” I told him. “Hey! Let’s go to the toy department before the groceries!”
“Sure.”
“I, um, I’m looking for a hula hoop.” GLL Challenge #12 – Go into a toy store and hula hoop in the aisle for one full minute.
Jake didn’t seem to think it was weird at all when I picked up the hula hoop but I made an excuse for it just in case.
“I heard about a new hula hoop workout that’s supposed to get rid of love handles,” I told him. “I’m not sure if I still know how to do this though.”
I stepped into the hula hoop and wished I had chosen to complete this particular challenge when I was at the store by myself but I couldn’t get this far and quit.
“I need to do this for a least one minute to see results,” I told Jake. “Can you time me?”
“Yeah, I have a timer on my phone.”
He leaned against the display on the aisle’s end-cap and looked at his phone. Perfect, I thought. If he’s looking at his phone, he’s not looking at me.
Well, here goes nothing.
And I did it. I rocked that hula hoop! I felt a bit silly for the first ten seconds or so but after that, I started having fun. Being silly was fun.
Jake thought it was hilarious. He didn’t even tell me when my minute was up because he said he was having so much fun watching me.
A little girl who was about eight came around the corner with her mom who looked about my age. When they saw me hula-hooping they decided to do it, too. Then Jake said, “What the hell?” and picked up a hula hoop himself.
I’ve never had so much fun in a grocery store before. Thanks, Hope!
Thursday was the day of my catered “event.” I’d decided to pick up the food and take it over to Allison’s. I figured we could feed her family of five – three times – plus take some home for me, Jake, and Adam, and that would pretty much take care of it.
Was I ever surprised when I got to Allison’s and found almost thirty people there! Well, there weren’t that many, but Allison had rounded up about a dozen girls we went to high school with to throw me a surprise divorce party, which had been coordinated by Hope.
I saw these girls on social network sites all the time. I knew practically everything about their lives. I knew every time they took a nap in the middle of the afternoon, every time they bought a new handbag on their lunch breaks, and every time their husbands brought home flowers. I knew how wide their cervixes got when they went into labor, what they made for dinner and exactly how many minutes they spent at the gym each week. I mean, I knew everything. But I still didn’t consider them my friends because I hadn’t actually spoken to them in years. I was so surprised and touched that they came out to support me.
We ate Italian food first. Then Allison showed me the scavenger hunt Hope had put together for the night. It was going to be a competition to see which girl could get me the most phone numbers or introduce me to the most guys. It was just for fun. I definitely wasn’t ready to start dating. But it was better than hanging out at home by myself.
Hope sent an outfit to Allison’s house that I was supposed to wear. It was a glittery halter top and a miniskirt so short it looked more like a thick belt. She also sent a temporary tattoo that said “Bad Kitty” which Allison applied to my cleavage. The tattoo I could deal with, but that skirt … um hell no.
When I went into the bathroom to change into my outfit, I called Hope to protest.
“What are you wearing?” she asked when she picked up. Not even a hello.
“See, um, that’s the thing,” I said cautiously. “I really love it that you put this whole thing together for me. But, um, you’re not supposed to wear miniskirts past the age of twenty-five.”
“Uh huh,” she said, “and who told you that?”
“I read it in a magazine.”
“Was it the same magazine that claims to have discovered a hot new sex act on the cover of every issue and every month it ends up being something we’ve been doing since junior high?”
“Yeah. That magazine.”
“You know I’d never make you look bad, girl. And remember, I’m in charge here. So stop arguing and put it on.”
I sighed reluctantly and bit my lip. I really did want to be that girl again; the girl who wore a miniskirt as easily as a pair of sweatpants. I just wasn’t sure I could.
“A few drinks from now and you’ll feel like the hottest chick in the bar,” she told me. “Until then, you’re gonna have to fake it. Pretend you are confident and the confidence will come. Go on. Try it. Tell yourself you’re the sexiest and most confident woman in Allison’s house and watch how your whole attitude changes. Do it right now. For ten seconds. I’ll count.”
“Okay.” I closed my eyes and did as she said. I had to admit she was definitely on to something. Within those ten seconds I felt my chin rise and my shoulders push back as I stood up a little straighter. Hmm, maybe this could work.
I opened my eyes and saw that the face staring back at me from the mirror looked less scared and timid than it had a minute ago. I might be able to do this belt-as-a-skirt thing.
“Allison will be texting me pics all night,” Hope warned me, “and they better be good ones.”
“I got this,” I said. And I believed it.
Hope’s pep-talk experiment, along with the sangria that Allison served during dinner, helped me get the outfit on, but there was no way I was going without my underwear! I mean, at least until I had a few more drinks in me.
When the girls asked where I wanted to go I said The Bar because it was a mellow place to hang out and have some drinks and those were the kinds of bars I felt most comfortable in. Even though I’ve worked in a few of them, I’m not much of a bar person and I’m definitely not a club person. The Bar does have a dance floor and a DJ on weekends, but it’s mostly just a place to chill out and have some beers with your friends or watch a game and have some wings – if you’re into that kind of thing. I’m not. The sports I mean. Not the wings. Who doesn’t love wings? Yum.
Last time I hung out in a bar for recreational purposes was in college. I hated it even then because I always seemed to be dressed incorrectly. If everyone was wearing denim skirts and white tube tops, I was wearing black. If everyone else was wearing black, I’d be in the denim skirt and white tube top. When everyone else had on heels, I was in sandals. When everyone was wearing sandals, I had on heels. It was pretty much guaranteed that I would be behind on the trends. By the time I figured out what was “in,” it was already on its way out. It’s not that I wanted to be like everyone else, I just didn’t want to be so different from everyone else.
I could still remember the last time I was in a bar in Ann Arbor. It was the end of The Summer of Jake and Roxie. I was getting ready to start my senior year at UNC, and my friends from high school were all leaving for their respective schools. We had a bar-hopping going away party. I could still remember the inadequacy I felt when I showed up at the bar to see all the other girls had their hair pulled into high, bouncy ponytails (mine was down), faded jeans (mine were a dark wash), and one of those really long sweaters ever
yone wore back then that looked like a trench coat (I had on a tank top because – hello – it was summer). Where was the memo about the long sweaters, and why was I not on the mailing list? And what was it with girls wearing sweaters in summer and tank tops in winter?
Later on that evening, we moved to a karaoke bar and three of the girls put in a slip for the exact same song without knowing it (“Redneck Woman” by Gretchen Wilson). Like a parody in a satirical film, each one performed the song as if she was a hot country star on a world tour – complete with hip swaying, hair flipping and coy smiles at the audience. There were even a few winks involved. Maybe it was the lemon drop shot I’d just swallowed, but the whole scene was nauseating. If any of those girls ever went down south and saw what a real redneck was, they would not be acting like it was a cute thing.
We had ended our barhopping at The Bar and when Jake got off work, he drove my drunken ass to an empty parking lot by the airport so we could be alone on our last night together. I told him I was happy to go back to North Carolina because being around all of the clones in Ann Arbor was starting to give me a complex.
“Did you notice that every girl I was with had on a sweater except me?” I asked him.
“No,” he said, thoughtfully. “I didn’t notice anyone except you.”
I didn’t need to worry about being the outcast at my divorce party though. I finally fit in after all these years. Just about every other woman at The Bar was wearing a miniskirt. And mine was on the longer side compared to the others. I’m pretty sure I saw a couple of tampon strings!
Surprisingly enough, the fact that I looked like everyone else didn’t make any difference to my inferiority complex. I still felt awkward for at least the first hour. But Jake kept giving me drinks, and pretty soon my panties were in my purse and I was leaning over the bar to tell him I wasn’t wearing anything under my skirt.
“I see you haven’t changed any,” he said with a crooked smile, as he poured shots on the bar.
It was a simple statement, but it meant a lot to me because it meant Hope’s experiment worked. She said I had to fake it. If Jake thought I was still the person he used to know, I was doing a good job. There might be hope for me after all because I felt fabulous. Or maybe that was the alcohol talking.
In one night I accomplished: GLL Challenge #8 – Wear a miniskirt in public with no underwear on; GLL Challenge #9 – Tell someone (preferably someone you’re attracted to) that you’re not wearing any underwear; GLL Challenge #20 – Get drunk; and #24 – Make out with a stranger. I don’t even remember his name. I’m not sure I ever knew it.
Even though The Bar didn’t have karaoke, that didn’t stop me from screaming, I mean singing, Pink’s “So What” loud enough to be heard over the music from the jukebox. My friends joined in right away and then a few girls from the other end of the bar started singing, too. That was Challenge #18 – Start a sing-a-long in public, and get at least one other person, a stranger, to sing along.
I also crossed off #2 – Get thrown out of a bar. Even though I wasn’t escorted out, Jake did cut me off at one point, and that’s basically the same thing, right?
Things were a bit blurry after that. I vaguely remembered Jake asking if I was making out with guys to make him jealous. He said it with a smile, though, so I would know he was teasing me.
“Do I even have the ability to make you jealous anymore?” I asked. At least that’s what I think I said.
I’m pretty sure he answered by saying, “You’ll always be able to make me jealous, Little Girl.” But, thanks to the alcohol, I can’t be sure. Maybe I dreamed it.
I honestly don’t remember a whole lot more than that. It’s probably best if I don’t.
I got pretty lonely after the divorce party. With the kids out of school for the summer, Allison had her hands full, and I had trouble dealing with the noise and commotion over there. Adam practically lived at the hospital. Jake was around for small pockets of time but he was usually on his computer working on his pictures and marketing his business.
I was supposed to be looking for a job, but I still felt scarred from the Skank Queen incident, and so I focused on volunteering to help others instead. I fulfilled GLL Challenge #25 by volunteering at a homeless shelter. I washed sheets and made beds and also donated a bunch of my expensive beauty products to the homeless women. I hoped to go a few times a month.
Even though it wasn’t on the GLL, I’d also gone to Big Brothers and Big Sisters of America to request a little sister to mentor. Since I couldn’t start my Social Work studies for another year, I thought a little sister would help keep me motivated. After a process of interviews, background checks, reference checks and drug screenings, they finally found me a little sister.
The info I was given was that she was thirteen, her name was Violet, she had been born to a teen mom, didn’t know who her father was and had been raised by her grandma while her mom was off whoring around – under the pretense of trying to find a father figure for her daughter, of course. Seriously, I’m not making this up. Sometimes stereotypes exist for a reason.
The girl had started to act out by talking back to her grandma, getting in trouble in school and hanging out with the wrong crowd. Grandma was worried and contacted BBBSA. That’s where I came in. I was supposed to hang out with her twice a month and try to show her different ways to enjoy life that didn’t involve getting into trouble.
We’d already had one session together and I thought it went well. Since I knew she was in the art club at her school, I took her to an art gallery and then a carnival. I could tell she was a good kid, and my guess was that her bad behavior was influenced by this new group of friends she had. Saving Violet from a life of STDs, teenage pregnancies and drug use was my new goal for the summer.
Aside from saving Violet, I didn’t do very much during my first few weeks back in Michigan. I sent in a few resumes via email for jobs that were way out of my league, just to say I was looking, but I wasn’t putting any real effort into it. I wasn’t putting much of an effort into anything. Most days I just hung around at home in my loungewear. My brother and Jake would make asshole comments about me wearing my pajamas all day but my clothes were from the “loungewear” section of the stores, and they were made specifically for laziness. There was no point in putting on cute clothes if I wasn’t going anywhere, right? I knew people on TV were always dressed up with full hair and makeup when someone randomly and without invitation knocked on their doors. But in real life, people don’t knock on your door out of the blue except Jehovah’s Witnesses; therefore, in real life, people don’t get dressed up and do their hair and makeup just to sit around the house. Correct?
Sometimes I stayed in my room all day and watched Dawson’s Creek on Netflix. Every couple of days, when we were out of food, I’d put on some jeans, throw my hair up in a lazy ponytail (not the cool kind) and go to the grocery store. I didn’t like using the oven in the summer, so I usually threw something into the slow cooker instead. The food would always disappear, so I was pretty sure the guys appreciated it. But even I knew my life had rapidly turned into a depressing scene.
It was nearing the end of June, the middle of the afternoon, and I was sitting on the couch eating ice cream directly out of the carton like a total cliché. I was watching a small-claims courtroom TV show about a pair of ex-roommates fighting over an electric bill. It had been at least three days since I’d washed my hair, and I was pretty certain that if I took the rubber band out, my ponytail would stay in place.
I was on the edge of my seat watching the judge yell at the two ladies on the television and hadn’t noticed that Jake was in the room until he cleared his throat.
I looked over to see that he had taped a banner over the archway of the living room that said “Intervention.”
I couldn’t help but burst out laughing. There’s an episode of How I Met Your Mother that deals with an intervention banner, and it’s some of the funniest shit I’ve ever seen. Jake tried to hide his smile an
d look stern, but I could tell he thought he was pretty amusing, too.
He pointed at me and twirled his finger around the living room. “This,” he said, “has gone on long enough.”
I played innocent. “What?”
“You know what I’m talking about,” he said. “We’re all worried. It’s time for you to stop moping around, get off the couch, take a shower and do something.”
“Do what? What am I supposed to do?”
“Show me your lingerie.” He sounded dead serious.
“Huh?!”
“You need something to do, and I need a model. I tried looking on Craigslist but everyone I found was pretty trashy and wanted too much money up front.”
“You want to take pictures of me in my underwear?”
“Yes.”
“And what would you do with these pictures?”
“Put them on my website, blog and Facebook pages.”
I gasped. “Yeah right! I’m not an underwear model, Jake!”
He sat down on the ottoman in front of me. “Look, it is my job as a photographer to make you look good. I won’t even show your face. But I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t think you were good enough.”
Hmm. If he could Photoshop me to look good and no one could see my face, what was the harm?
“For every boudoir session I book in the next two weeks I’ll give you half the session fee.”
Even better! “Okay,” I said uncertainly. “Do I have time to get ready? I’d like to at least get a pedicure and a haircut.” And definitely a wax, but I didn’t mention that part.
He laughed a little. “Yes, please do. Because there isn’t much I could do to make you look good right now.”
I playfully punched his arm. “Thanks!”