More thoughts run through my head in 60 seconds of blank staring than most people process in a day. Very few of these musings resemble my actual life. Actually, there is marked disparity. (Think: apples and orangatans.)

The most recent collision of reality and my inner world happened as I accompanied my best pal (Winnie*) on a shopping sortie to Copley. Cast in the role of consumerist wing woman, I kept my eyes peeled for classic silhouettes that fell within her color palette.

Of course, altruism takes a back seat once I cross through the threshold of a BCBG Max Azria store. The back of that store has a gravitational pull under which I am powerless. Their party frocks are fab and I can immediately visualize myself coyly sipping a cocktail served in impractically shaped glassware. As I thumb through the racks of floor length gowns Winnie quips in her affably sarcastic sing-songy tone: “Never too early to plan for prom, eh?”

Touché, my dear friend; touché indeed. After 20 years of best friendship, she knows me all too well. The thought of another person knowing the floor plan of one’s mangled psyche may be terrifying to some, it is one of my greatest comforts to share this reciprocal shorthand. I just laughed and lobbed it back: “Hey- ya never know. This could be my year.”

Here’s the kicker: already, I have enough formal wear that you’d think I was an aspiring game show hostess investing vowel money in a professional wardrobe. That makes perfect sense considering:

*Tuesday 1/2 price burger night is the social highlight of my week

*My boyfriend:
—lives in Asia.
—takes pride in not owning a pair of shoes.

The storm in my brain came up with two possible solutions as impractical as they are warped.

*Host a Spinster Gala.
Breathe mints optional;
Cat required.

*Check with Vanna White to inquire about a closet swap: her wash-and-wear travel clothing for my finery.

“Yo Whitey- hit me back, ahhh-ight? I gots a favor to axe.”

N.B.: Alternate suggestions welcome as class participation is encouraged and will count for 30% of your final grade.

Tags: Asia, aspiring game show hostess, BCBG Max Azria store, head, kicker, New Brunswick, possible solutions, Vanna White, wash-and-wear travel clothing

After I published my previous entry, I wasted no time descending deeper (and deeper) into my trusty bag of worst case scenarios. This person had travelled the globe, remained in one piece and it only took me a few days to loose her. It was, far and away, the most catastrophic thing to happen on my watch. D. was clearly unconscious/bleeding/lost in a ditch/alley/quarry because I had failed miserably at being a hostess with the mostest.

Standard operating procedure was followed and I called the Cambridge, Somerville and MBTA police with a description of my friend. Better safe than sorry, though I wish filing a “delayed persons” report was an option. The label of going through “missing persons” procedure gave me the push I needed to dive face first into my crazy. Maybe that’s an exagerration. I did feel a little bit better after having performed due diligence and eventually passed out around 3:30/4 AM.

Do you get the sense that I’m avoiding getting to the point? If not… check your pulse and have your cognitive ability tested. I actually started drafting this post the morning after my full scale freak out. It wasn’t that I wanted to build tension and drama for my band of loyal followers brother and best friend. You’ll find no shades of Grey’s Anatomy here. No salary negotiations to follow trying to gleam if I’ll sign on for another season. As protagonista and proprietor of this here monoblog I am locked into a lifelong contract with… well, me.

Originally uploaded by Jess Cartwright.

I guess I’m feeling a bit, shall we say, sheepish. What I am about to share is humbling to say the least. I suspect that events of last week unfolded as they did in order to bring about karmic balance for the high level of amusement I get from watching season after season of “The Bachelor”. It goes without saying that there’s a chance I may not be the brightest bulb. I am, however, determined to look on the bright side; focusing on the wisdom I’ve garnered in hindsight. (I have also racked up another cute story for use as conversational fodder at a high brow cocktail party 1/2 price burger night.) Lessons learned are as follows:

1- D. is not 6′ tall. She is 5′ 10″. For the record, I believe this still qualifies her as an Amazon for those of us 5′ 6″ and under.

2- Sometimes stealthy people cover themselves with a down comforter in such a way as to be completely undetectable to the naked eye. (Again- for the record, the bed was unmade but it didn’t have the usual signs of occupation: hair/appendages jutting out in plain sight and that overall lumpy appearance.)

3- D. is a really sound sleeper who is unaffected by a crazy girl poking her head in and out of the guest bedroom where she had passed out cold at 6 PM after an afternoon of exploring my neighborhood by foot.

4- Had I been a tad calmer I might have noticed that the only two pairs of shoes D. brought with her were in front of the shoe rack on the landing next to the front door.

In other words, I have a perfectly good brain. I just need to actually use it to reap the rewards of the ironically atypical phenomenon known as ‘common sense’.

Tags: 3- D, Cambridge, head, hostess, Jess Cartwright, proprietor, Somerville, Somerville and MBTA police