LITMIR.BIZ

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“Jesus! You scared me.”

      “Sorry. But I figured no one would get anything done until Matt the Mouth finished his interview.”

      “I don’t know why he doesn’t take his sorry ass out of the newsroom and go to her house,” I said. “It’s taking him twice as long this way to get the information he needs.”

      Victoria sipped her coffee. “So are you coming tonight?”

      “I probably shouldn’t.”

      “So that means you are?”

      I thought about my horoscope. It said to “catch up with friends” tonight. I remembered my new middle name is Dare and that I’m full of optimism and have to let go of my fears.

      “Okay, I’m in. But I can’t stay out late. I have an early interview tomorrow.”

      Matt hung up his phone and I overheard him tell Oyster Breath he was going to the woman’s house. Thank God! I hoped I’d be able to finish the damn story I’d been trying to finish for the last hour.

      I was working on a story about a teen who suffered from anorexia. I had until this afternoon to send Oyster Breath my first draft. Whenever I’m assigned stories that deal with mental illness, it makes me twitchy because I’m aware I have my own issues. I’ve never had an eating disorder but I’ve battled OCD most of my life. It started when I was a kid. I remember the day as if it were a minute ago. Mom was chaperoning my fourth-grade class field trip to the National Museum of Natural History in Washington, D.C. I remember staring at the mummies in the Ancient Egypt exhibit and picturing my mom as a mummy. I became obsessed with losing her and convinced myself that if I did certain things, she’d never die. I know it sounds incredibly silly, but to a kid it made perfect sense. I believed that my behavior gave me control and didn’t realize until years later it was the other way around – my behavior was controlling me.

      I still battle anxiety issues and have my share of quirks, but I have a better handle on it today. Mom is just as bad, she stresses over everything, even things she doesn’t have to worry about. So, maybe it’s part of my genetic makeup. No way would I wish it on anyone.

      By the end of the day, I’d finished my first draft. Oyster Breath was talking with another reporter so I waited to update him before heading home to change into something more comfortable for the bar. Just like Horoscope said: It was a great day for a new beginning.

Chapter Two

      Friday, July 15

       It’s time to do some soul searching. What are you looking for in a guy? What are your requirements for a happy relationship? Tonight: Curl up with a good book.

      After going to happy hour last night and having way too much to drink, I pretty much fell into bed. I should know better than to drink more than two beers on a work night. But it was Thursday and we were all bitching about work and the beer went down easy. Too easy. At least when we go out I don’t have to drive because I live in the city, blocks from Joe’s Bar, our hangout. Victoria lives down the street from me so I always have a walking buddy. We live in brownstones that have been converted into apartments in a not-so-good section of town. I love the high ceilings and spacious rooms, except in the winter when I get hit with high heating bills.

      Anyway, when I have too much to drink I usually have wild dreams. Most of the time I end up naked in public or I have that recurring nightmare of sitting down to take a test I haven’t prepared for. But last night, I dreamt I bumped into Hottie Advertising Guy in the girls’ bathroom at work. I opened the stall door and there he was, bare ass naked. So I went to the next stall and opened the door but he was there, too. Every stall I tried, he was in. My bladder was killing me because I had to pee so badly. Finally I couldn’t take the pain anymore; I had to relieve myself. So, I hopped up on the bathroom counter and peed in the sink. Not very lady like, I know, but when you have to go, you have to go. Suddenly, Hottie Advertising Guy walked out of the stall. Or rather, eight Hottie Advertising Guys walked out of eight stalls and they pointed at me and laughed. I lost my balance and my butt fell into the sink and that’s when I woke up and headed to the bathroom. I had to pee. For real. God! Where do these dreams come from?

      I wondered what the dream meant. Maybe I was worried about embarrassing myself in front of him. I’ve worried about that sort of thing in the past. There are a lot of physical features I’d love to change. My lips are too thin, my ears too pointy and my toes, well, I don’t even want to go there with my toes. I wish I had prettier toes, like Victoria and Frankie and Jada. They wear open-toed shoes and sandals and their feet look so pretty with their toes polished. I have a hammer toe on my left foot and ever since a guy in high school mocked me in front of a group, I’ll never ever show my toes in public again.

      While eating breakfast I thought about my horoscope. What am I looking for in a guy? I grabbed a pen and paper off the desk.

      Definitely a sense of humor. Oh, and someone who is kind and generous. Definitely don’t want a cheapskate. Been there, done that. One guy I dated never ordered anything but water to drink when we went out to dinner.

      “Do you realize,” he said one night, “That if you spend a dollar fifty on a soda twice a week that would be three dollars a week or one hundred and fifty-six dollars a year. In ten years, you’ll have spent $1,560. Now, if you put that money in the bank and leave it alone, it would accrue interest and you’d end up with a nice sum.”

      “Seriously?” I’d said. “You’re not having a coke because you want to save a buck fifty?”

      We didn’t go out again! So, yeah, no cheapskates allowed.

      Honest and trustworthy are high on the list. And reliable. If a guy says he’s going to go with me to a function I know will be as boring as hell but I don’t have a choice, it’s not cool to back out an hour before the event. Yeah, Ryan. You’re the reason this made my list. And the reason I drank too much at the gallery opening and made an ass out of myself when I puked in the lobby. And the reason I stopped taking your calls. So there!

      Sensitive. I want a guy who isn’t afraid to share what’s in his heart. Who doesn’t care if tears pool in his eyes when he’s touched by a story or movie or book. Who isn’t too manly to cry. In other words, I’m looking for a guy who feels and isn’t afraid to show it.

      Clean, as in good hygiene. I hate even having to put this on my list, but some guys fall short in this department. Like this one guy I dated. He didn’t like flossing. Said it was unnecessary. Think again, tighty-whitie (yes, I’m serious. He wore little boy underwear that made his junk look a lot bigger than it was). I swear once during a kiss a piece of food that was stuck in his teeth fell into my mouth. It was so gross I thought I was going to puke. That was our last date. And then there was Kurt, who constantly dug for ear wax with his glasses arm. Neither would get to the sleepover level in my book.

      I also don’t want a clingy guy. I can’t stand clingy. It’s not that I’m not romantic. I am. But I don’t want a guy who smothers me and calls me five times a day. I need some space and in return I’ll give the guy space. I don’t mind if he does things with his friends or isn’t available to hang out every night. That doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy spending time with him. I just recognize the importance of family and friends and having alone time.

      I almost forgot smart. Smart is very important. Maybe even a deal breaker. I’m no Einstein, but I do need a guy who is intellectually stimulating. I’ve dated some in the past who weren’t and it bothered me. One guy actually told me once he wanted to go to Paris but not France. His dick might have been big but his brain was the size of a pea!

      Romantic is nice. And manly and decisive, but not pushy. If I say something’s off limits, it’s off limits. For those guys who are obsessed with the back door, this one’s for them.

      I think I pretty much hit the main ones. I’m can’t bear to sit next to someone eating liver (it truly nauseates me) but I always let a guy know this if it’s on the menu. I’m not as bad as Victoria

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