|posted on 13-Oct-2002 9:57:32 PM|
|Title: Simply Lovely|
Author: Alli aka Lavender
Rating: PG-13, I'd say
Summary: A year in the life of Maria DeLuca, Bridget Jones style.
Disclaimer: I don't own most of the characters, and the writing style is really not mine either.
AN: Got the idea from the wonderful Bridget Jones books, obviously. But who knows where this is gonna end up. It's something I just started today and I'm not gonna guarantee regular updating or anything.
139 pounds (horrid), alcohol units don't want to think about it, cigarettes too many to count, minutes not spent with head in toilet 26.
3:14 p.m. Home. Spent New Year's at wonderful party with the girls. Margaritas. Mmmm. But! But but but! Have turned new leaf. Am quitting smoking, drinking, and late-night Internet chatrooms. Will be wordly woman of sound mind and body.
138 pounds (apparently have lost weight along with contents of stomach), alcohol units 3 (must start slowly), cigarettes 6 (see previous).
10:02 a.m. Am back at work again. Divine Billy has, of course, walked past my desk 17 times today, looking impossibly more-divine-than-usual. Sigh. Iz and Tess would be very disappointed if knew of my secret obsession.
11:35 a.m. Oh God!! Is imagination or has Divine Billy winked in my direction on 24th trip past desk?
11:36 a.m. Was imagination. Was directed towards stick-like Gwyneth clone delivering papers.
11:37 a.m. Of course, perhaps wink was intended for my direction, then thought better of it and covered by winking at delivery girl.
11:39 a.m. On second thought, not very comforting.
1:52 p.m. Mom called. Apparently Ronnie and Phil are having deck party Saturday, and I am invited. Of course they automatically assume that I have nothing better to do (and of course they are correct.) Sean suggested also bringing Liz along. Apparently does not realize that Liz is married with baby.
1:55 p.m. Deck party in January?
8:42 p.m. Home. Tess rang in tears over Vile Kyle (ah! Ahaha! It rhymes! Shall never cease to get kick out of nickname) yet again. Apparently told her she was moving too fast when suggested he help her shop for glassware at Sears. "After six years, Mar," she cried into phone. "Six years!"
Perhaps is not so bad being single.
Pounds 139 (dammit), alcohol units 1 (v.v.g.), cigarettes 13 (not v.g.)
11:22 p.m. Have just got back from man-bashing with Iz and Tess at the Crash. Could not bash earlier due to Iz having wisdom teeth removed (yes, at age of 27.) Displayed amazing self-restraint while surrounded by quite delicious-looking mudslides and cosmos. Had lovely time dissecting motives of Vile Kyle, though in retrospect disappointing that I spend time living vicariously through best friend's sad love life rather than partaking in own.
"Kick him to the curb," Isabel said immediately. "If he won't even carry your shopping bags then what's he good for?"
"Well, yes, but normally he does carry my bags for me," Tess protested weakly. "Only this time, when I mentioned silverware, he got all defensive."
"Maybe he just has an aversion to spoons and such. Or a terrible childhood memory involving dinner knives," I pitched in, only to receive doubtful looks. "Or maybe not."
"I'm ugly. That's all there is to it, I'm hideous and ugly and fat and no man will ever love me." Tess promptly burst into tears for the third time that night, urging Iz to order her another drink and torture me with the sight of all that lovely, sparkling champagne.
"You're not ugly," Iz assured her, shoving another glass in her face. "Here. Drink this. You'll feel better." She was obviously right, as twenty minutes later Tess was giggling and attempted to do table dance when Joan Jett song began to play. Sigh. What would anyone do without Isabel?
2:31 a.m. Could not resist tempting lure of glowing computer screen. Swear has hypnotized me with some sort of subliminal blinking text. Must be why Microsoft has cornered market. Had simpy wonderful time in Biker Bar 3.
Pounds 139, alcohol units 0 (too early), cigarettes 3.
11:10 a.m. Fuck. Am late for deck party at Ronnie and Phil's. Must find left shoe.
11:11 a.m. Shoe not under bed.
11:12 a.m. Shoe not under sofa.
11:13 a.m. Shoe not in refridgerator. Fuck, where is shoe?
11:15 a.m. Shoe in closet, where shoe belongs. Never would have guessed.
2:41 p.m. Arrived at party only forty-five minutes late and with only one speeding ticket. Unfortunately, arrived with hair a mess, bloodshot eyes (damned computer screen), and mismatched shoes (apparently shoe was not in closet as suspected; shoe still lost.)
Worst of all, am being set up by mother with snotty, fashion-challenged artist who pours Tabasco sauce on all food.
"Oh, hello dear," Mother said sweetly, greeting me with a kiss. "Rough night?" she said with a wink. Is very sad when own mother believes you spend Friday nights at home alone getting drunk and high. I smiled loftily at her.
"Oi! Maria!" Was Sean, obnoxious and drugged-up as usual. Really do not understand how relatives do not see this. "Where's Liz?"
"I'd assume at home with Max," I answered. They have been married for three years now and Sean is either quite damaged from marijuana use or excellent in the art of denial.
"Well, tell her I said hello," he said, grinning cheekily before loping off into the house, presumably to roll himself another joint in secret. Was then that I realized it was fifty degrees outside and I had on a light leather jacket.
"Um, right, I'll be inside, Mom..." I began, only to have her grab me by my frost-bitten arm and drag me halfway across the lawn to a small group of people by the croquet set-up.
"Ah, look at this, Maria's finally arrived!" Phil roared loudly, suffocating me in a hug in which he not-so-subtly rubbed my rear end. Why oh why is this man my uncle? "Late night, eh Maria?" he ribbed.
Yes, let's all laugh at Maria's sad social situation! Yes, why don't we? It could even be a movie! Or the basis for a stand-up comedy routine!
I drew myself up best I could and shrugged lightly. "You could say that." Is best not to answer these people directly, will only backfire on self.
Of course Mom took that opportunity to butt in. "Maria, have you met Michael Guerin?" she chirped, shoving me in the direction of a tall young man with odd, spiky hair. "He's Ingrid's nephew, of course."
"Of course," I echoed, desperately trying to conjure up an image of who Ingrid might be.
"And he's a simply astounding artist," she gushed. "Aren't you, Michael? You'll have to show Maria your work sometime."
"I wouldn't call it astounding," he said quietly, fiddling with his empty champagne glass. He eyed me in what appeared to be a rather frightened manner, which I can't blame him for, considering the rat's nest on my head and the deprived-junkie look I was sporting, though he could have been less obvious about his distaste for me. "If you'll excuse me," he said, nodding in my direction, and walked away towards the drinks.
"Isn't he simply adorable!" Mom whispered excitedly into my ear. "I think you two will absolutely hit it off!"
Poor Mom. All hopes of having a bright, vivacious, talented daughter were dashed when gave birth to me.
8:51 p.m. Home. Well, if possible, things only went from bad to worse.
Turned out that deck party was actually more of a deck and dinner party, as I discovered when I attempted to leave.
"Oi, Ria, where you going?" Sean called out as he saw me slinking towards the front of the house. "Not going to stay for dinner?"
I turned around sheepishly to find the entire party staring at me. "Oh no, of course not," I replied meekly. "Just going to find some...tissues."
"Oh, Maria dear!" Ronnie exclaimed, and rushed to my side, taking me by the arm. "Why didn't you say so?" I followed her inside in a daze. It was quite a big deal to be making over tissues.
"Erm..." I began to protest as she led me into the powder room and began to fish through a wooden cabinet. "I'm fine, really, I believe it's gone away..."
"Don't be silly," she interrupted, and turned back to me with a maxi pad in her hands. "Next time, just feel free to come in here and take what you need."
Vainly attempted to explain to her that by "tissue" I had actually meant, well, tissue, but she would have none of it and I was stuck pretending to use the restroom while she waited outside the door.
Exited restroom to find all guests inside, chattering on their way to the dining room. Of course, I was seated next to darling Mr. Guerin himself. Attempted several times to strike up a conversation, if only to please mother, but he would have none of it. Miserable night culminated when spilled red wine onto his lap.
"Fuck!" he cursed softly, jumping up from his seat, while I stupidly groped for his lap with a napkin.
"Oh my God! I'm so sorry! Oh! I can't believe I just did that! Sorry!" I gasped. Needless to say, he responded only with a glare, and then was led upstairs by Phil for a change of pants. Saw Mom with rather horrified expression, took opportunity to form sad excuse about traffic and feeding my non-existant cat, and drove off like bat out of hell.
like it? please leave fb!
[ edited 2 time(s), last at 2-Nov-2002 8:34:52 PM ]
|posted on 14-Oct-2002 7:21:34 PM|
|Feel stupid, but though I'd give myself a bump...heh.|
|posted on 2-Nov-2002 8:33:14 PM|
|Thanks for the responses! |
Pounds 137 (whee!), alcohol units 4 (perhaps aid weight loss?), cigarettes 8.
7:41 p.m. Home. Received phone call from Mom yesterday morning.
"Maria!" she yelped the moment I picked up the phone. "What was that scene all about yesterday?"
Felt that perhaps she should be the one explaining her actions, but was too tired to bother arguing. "I spilled my wine when I reached for the mashed potatoes."
"You're 27 years old, for God's sake, Maria. You shouldn't be spilling food all over dinner guests."
"Yes, well," I said, blushing furiously. Of course she was right. Am a bit past age where knocking over drinks at table is acceptable. Attempted to come up with reasonable explanation, but failed.
"Well, anyway," she continued. "I got a hold of Michael Guerin's phone number for you."
For me? Since when did I want it? "That's nice, Mom."
There was a pause. "Well, don't you want it?"
"Maria!" she exclaimed in a manner sounding as if I'd just announced that I was having a giant picture of Meatloaf tattooed on my ass. "Honestly, are you ever going to think about settling down?"
"Not with a man I've only met once for a few hours and spilt wine on!" I retorted. "And what about you? You're the one who married too early. Fine example you set for me!" Sadly this is my only way of ever getting out of these conversations: bring up Dad.
"That has nothing to do with you," she snapped back. "Now look, I'm going to -"
"Oh dear, that's call waiting," I said almost whimsically. "Ta-ta." I hung up the phone with a flourish.
Received later message from Mom stating, "Maria, when did you get a cat?"
Pounds 138, alcohol units 3 (have generally given up on resolution), cigarettes 5 (ditto).
2:24 p.m. Office. Saw Divine Billy meet tall, skinny redhead for lunch at Polto's. Sigh.
3:01 p.m. Hate hate hate Vivian Franke:
Please refrain from any further staring, daydreaming, and/or sighing. Is not very productive means of working.
Vivian Franke, Department Head
3:17 p.m. Am pleased with own response:
Will gladly do so, as soon as certain other staff members remove large stick from rectum.
3:20 p.m. Perhaps was not most mature response. Oh dear. Must find Brody and fix it.
3:52 p.m. Thank goodness for Brody and computer smarts. Were able to erase message before read by nasty boss-bitch. Now must check makeup in restroom, for Brody seemed to be staring at it funny.
3:59 p.m. Hmm. Appears to be nothing wrong with face that is not normally wrong with face. Perhaps was food in teeth, or large bug.
8:38 p.m. Home. Discovered phone message from Liz when arrived home.
"Maria!" Sound of baby crying in background, several moments of shushing noises. "Sorry about that. Anyway, Max and I were -" Phone now clatters to floor, accompanied by muffled curse and then hasty apologies to baby. Seems silly to me, since baby probably doesn't give a damn and will be eager to curse in ten years or so. "Right. Sorry. So, Max and I are having a little get-together Friday night and we'd be delighted if you would come." Pause. "Of course, if you can make it. Well, let me know! Muah!"
Oh goody, goody, goody. Now can be stared-at and mocked by happily married couples not used to seeing such freak specimens as self which do not have significant other to brag about.
Pounds 136 (odd, seems to fluctuate), alcohol units 2, cigarettes 9.
2:31 p.m. Office. Saw Divine Billy enter Polto's with tall, skinny brunette. Sigh.
4:23 p.m. Have seen Brody hovering around desk all day. Perhaps has lost his key to the restroom?
4:27 p.m. No, was simply admiring view from window. V. nice angle of Victorian home across street, apparently.
Pounds 137, alcohol units 1, cigarettes 6.
2:17 p.m. Office. Saw Divine Billy meet tall, skinny blonde in front of Polto's. Sigh.
2:21 p.m. Wonder why Divine Billy has so many women to entertain. Surely is not "playing the field." Must have relatives in town. Come to think, the redhead did have his nose.
Pounds 135 (ah, v. nice), alcohol units 7, cigarettes 14.
12:25 a.m. Home. Must say, did not have very good time at Liz and Max's.
Arrived to find self as seventh guest. Seventh. Only guest to arrive sans husband/boyfriend/remote stranger who agreed to show up so as to not appear pathetic and lonely. Was immediately pounced upon by Charles Davies, colleague of Max and loathed person of myself.
"Maria!" he cried as I seated myself at the only remaining empty seat. "What a surprise. What a delightful surprise. Where's your man?" he asked, knowing full well that I am currently manless.
"Actually, Charles, I'm seeing how I like the single life at the moment," I responded coolly. Must say, respond very well to situations such as this. Prowess comes with practice.
"At the moment?" Jennifer Sanders repeated, laying a hand on her husband Christopher's arm. "Why darling, you've been seeing how you like it for years."
"So, Fred, how is the addition coming?" Liz suddenly piped up. Ah, thank God for dearest Lizzie. Though don't understand why was invited in first place if she suspected such mauling were to take place. Dull chatter about sunroofs and stone tiling ensued.
But of course the subject eventually drifted back to the topic of sad, lonely singles such as myself. Cannot expect anything else around this bunch, after all. "Honestly, M'ria," Charles Davies drawled after his fourth drink. "I don't understand how a simply gorgeous girl like yourself hasn't married by now."
Wanted to throw own drink in his large, vulgar face. "Honestly, Charles," I replied oh-so-calmly, "I don't understand how a man like you has gotten married." Was quite self-satisfied when he turned red and shut up. Did not like looks Myrna Davies was giving, however.
Liz was very apologetic at door later on. "I'm so sorry, Maria," she said softly, leaning against the doorframe. "If I had known Charles would be so rude I'd never have invited him."
I shrugged it off. "Oh, who ever knows how Charles Davies is going to act?" I said lightly. "It's alright. I forgive you." Gave her a grin just to make sure she knew I was kidding.
Ooh, look at time. Flirt's Nook will just be getting good.