Purposeful Shoes

“I got new boots!” was the first thing I said when I saw ALS at the “mini-reunion” organized by one of my high school classmates. “These are my I-don’t-need-a-job-after-business-school boots,” I declared, mimicking Rachel of Friends.
“Oh, congratulations!” ALS said, playing along as she gave me a hug. “Why don’t you need a job?”
“My first-term marks are out. I don’t think it’s enough to get that job with the big comfy bonus on Wall St.,” I said, more sadly than I felt.
“Aw, it’s ok honey. At least you got the boots.” I do! I thought to myself with glee, admiring my purchase. Sure, I broke my only-buy-sale-items rule to buy these, but they were worth it.

The mini-reunion was organized by a certain classmate of mine who went to UPenn after high school. He only comes back twice a year, so he regards the winter holidays as an opportunity to host a dinner reunion for whoever is back in town. This year’s guestlist was remarkably different from the previous year, which had been limited to misfits mostly. Classmates I had not seen since graduation attended this year’s dinner, which was held at an intimate downtown bar stocked with the most impressive array of beers and wines. PMG and I split a bottle of Gewurtzraminer Reserve between us (delish), and I was sufficiently tipsy by the time everyone had arrived. In attendance were some of my closest friends, including HB, who lavished attention upon me as always. MFL was there as well, although he spent more time interacting with his cell phone than a real-live person. I don’t think he was very happy seeing me with HB, but he may have been comforted in knowing that I would leave with him at the end of the night (he was my ride home).

The reunion made me think about my high school friends though. Many of us had gone through or were going through the same difficult task of deciding what we wanted to do. Made more difficult because we are a group of highly capable people with endless opportunities. Many of us were settling on med school, law school, or grad school “just because.” It suddenly made my decision to pursue a law degree after business school seem less arbitrary.

Worse comes to worse, I will just buy a pair of I-don’t-need-a-reason-to-go-to-law-school boots and march on.

The Sisterhood

Friday night. SG waits impatiently at the bus stop for her two girlfriends, ALS and FF, for a much-anticipated night of boy-story-sharing.
Three hours later, the Sisterhood was born. After a lengthy discussion of DEB, CHB (who my girlfriends call “Model” because he is absolutely gorgeous), and UC, we decided that we had revealed enough to each other that we needed to “bond 4 lyfe.” Since males can be “brothas in the hood,” it only made sense for us to be sisters.

ALS: How could you have been staring at DEB during the formal when you were there with the hottest date ever? He’s a MODEL.
Me: Uh.. I don’t know? There was just no chemistry between CHB and I, you know?
FF: But oh my god, have you not seen Model? He is gorgeous!
ALS: Exactly! How could you not have chemistry with a man that good looking? I could just… *gestures something about eating him up*
FF: Ok, why don’t you take some of ALS‘ hormones, since you obviously have none, and retire your penis for a couple days…
Me: Hey! I don’t have a penis! Just because I’m not raging with estrogen…
Meanwhile, ALS is still going on about how he looks good enough to eat.
FF: Plus he drives a BMW! And a Porsche! Who cares about dreamy eyes when you’re with a man who owns a Porsche at the age of 20?
At this point, I throw my hands in the air in exasperation and let them go on about CHB’s deity-like qualities for another half hour.

When I finally convinced them that I was absolutely not interested in CHB, I was soon listening to ALS talk about her RAK, then FF about her guilty attraction to YFC while finding her boyfriend, who she’s been dating since the start of university, less and less interesting.

A few days later, I told the Sisterhood about an awkward post-kiss encounter with UC, after which, ALS told me RAK also did something retarded. “Isn’t it weird,” she said, “that on Friday we were all excited about new boys and it’s Monday and we’ve gone and lost them. We should write a new book: “How to Lose a Guy in 3 Days”.” How right she is. Actually, one day is all it takes for me, but then again, I’ve had lots of practice.
More importantly, I’ve realized that with new boys, weekends can be fatal. So next time, I’ll just have to remember to make out with boys on Monday, not Friday. Monday!

Someone Else’s Perfect Night In

I miss having a boyfriend. Not so he can take me out on fancy dinners or go on road trips with me. Not even so I have a date to bring to “couple events.” I miss having a boyfriend for the most basic comforts. Like spending a night in sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace, me on my laptop and him reading the newspaper or watching TV. And I would tuck my feet behind the back of his knee because they’re cold. And I would look up occasionally from my work and see my loving boyfriend and smile in silence. And then when I returned to my work, he would look over at me and smile and ask if I need anything. And it might sound like the most boring night in the world, but to me, it would be perfect, because I am with him.
Last night, I had the perfect night in. I was on one end of the couch working on my laptop, with my legs propped up and my feet tucked under his thigh. He was on the other end, watching me work ((He divided his time between watching me work and trying to do work himself, but he was pretty much useless so it was much more the former than the latter.)). And even though I had been working for nine straight hours and my butt was numb from sitting for so long, I would not have traded it for anything else in the world.

The only problem was that I was on someone else’s couch, in front of someone else’s fireplace, and the boy warming my feet was someone else’s boyfriend.
Small details, of course. When I should have been jolted awake by the realization that this entire fantasy belong to someone else, I was instead swooning in his presence.

The last two days have been spent preparing for a presentation that we had to make this morning on a business idea. DEB was in my group, and we flirted mercilessly. My version of flirting was bickering with him – on everything. So much so that the rest of our group started to call us an old married couple. Honestly, he really drives me crazy, but in a good way. I find him so frustrating and exasperating and… heart-wrenchingly adorable! The only way I could focus on the task at hand was by making snide remarks and snappy comments to make him think I was annoyed with him. Every time he said something, he would grin at me, and I would look up from my work and lose myself in his eyes. And then I’d snap back to reality with a quick “you are so annoying” or “I hate you” and proceed to ignore his wounded act. As we were closing in on 30 hours of working together, he started to really believe it.
DEB: Do you really hate me?
Me: Of course.
DEB: I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not.
Me: I’m a good actress.
DEB: See, right there, were you being serious? I can’t tell.
My friend, who was also in our group, walked by and said, “She is probably secretly in love with you.” I guess she saw right through me. I blushed and returned to work.
This morning, after we presented, I made a paper crane and gave it to him, and he wrote me a note:
so you don’t hate me?
I replied: of course not =)
I was tempted to draw a little heart but I didn’t want to make it too obvious. He smiled and tucked the paper crane into his shirt pocket.

All in all, it was a fantastic way to end first term, even if I could only borrow DEB for a short time to play the boyfriend role in my fantasy. Now I am going to end up spending my holidays going over every little detail in a futile attempt to figure out if he was flirting with me and whether that is because he likes me or not and… you know. Typical googly-eyed girl stuff.