Rubies, Emeralds, & Diamonds, Oh My! (Part 3)

It was THE RING. It was lost. YES! LOST! I was crazy upset, but pretending I had perspective. Even though I had only thought about moving to California for five seconds, suddenly I was into it.

I thought I lost it while going to the bathroom. I have this bad habit of every time I wash my hands, I take off THE RING. No matter where I am.

I had 24-hour notice about the interview, and I ran around like a maniac getting things together and preparing. And then once I was there, it was Suit after Suit. Talking. Questioning. Pretending to care. Feigning interest. Forced laughter. Awkward pauses.

While talking to Suit Four, I noticed THE RING was gone. I said, “I don’t mean to interrupt you, but I need to run to the bathroom for a second. I think I lost my ring.” I checked all over the bathroom, but didn’t see it.

I decided even though I was dying inside, I’d have to save my freak out for later. I wanted this job.

I told Suit Four the news. He asked me how much THE RING was worth. When I told him $11,000, he lost it. He kept talking about his Rolex, and how upset he’d be if he lost it. He called the manager, hotel security and then the police.

It was a big deal to me, but Suit Four was really taking it personally. He told me about the expensive jewelry he bought for himself over the years. The more Suit Four gushed about jewelry, the more I realized how dumb it all was. I didn’t want to be like Suit Four. Let’s face it, who does?

Finally he stopped talking about it, and we finished our interview. But there was still one more person to meet.

The Suit of all Suits. I can’t even call him Suit Five, because he was more distinctive. He was the boss. The Head Honcho. Numero Uno,

even to himself. And he was tall. Really tall. Tall people really do have an advantage in life besides being able to reach shit.

I wanted to impress him, but as Suit Four was walking away he said, “Did you hear? She just lost an $11,000 ring?” Somebody needed to smack Suit Four.

He asked me if I needed a minute after losing something so valuable, but I told him I was fine. He blinked and said the interview was over. I said, “I don’t understand.” He looked at me and said, “If anyone can get on a plane with 24-hour notice, interview all day, lose something valuable and then handle it like you have, that’s someone I want to work with. You got my vote.” And he left. It was over, and I flew back home.

It felt like I’d been gone from NYC for weeks. I walked into my apartment, and thought about ordering Chinese food, but went into the bathroom first. And there sitting on the sink was THE RING.

I realized I had taken it off while washing my hands right before I left for the airport. It was here the entire time.

A few days later I was walking around Columbus Circle. An unusually warm 45-degrees for that time of year, it was almost hot. My phone rang, and it was Suit Four offering me the job, but I respectfully declined. I told him, “Something had come up.” He asked me if I found my ring? Should I tell him the truth? He would be relieved but...nah, I kept it to myself.

I shut my cell phone and one sapphire in THE RING caught the light. It felt like Spring was just around the corner. Now that’s a good time to live in NYC.

Rubies, Emeralds, & Diamonds, Oh My! (Part 2)

When I walked into the store, I was home. Rubies, Emeralds, and Diamonds. Oh my! Gold statues. Case after case of sparkle after sparkle. My newly trained eye zoned in amongst all this stuff and saw: THE RING. It was gorgeous. It was magnificent. It had everything. Weight. Color. Sapphires. Diamonds. Rubies. Pure love, the first time I saw it. I had to have it, but I wanted to play it cool.

“Oh my God. I love that ring. I want it. It fits perfect. It’s beautiful.” My NGBF thought it looked great. We bartered for a while. All the jewelry was on sale because the store was closing. Everything was marked down so much, they must buy each piece for a quarter. The saleswoman gave it to me for a good price. She said she just needed to get rid of everything and was happy to sell it. I found out later, when having it appraised, that it was actually an amazing price.

The ring is worth $11,000. If you saw it you wouldn’t think that. It’s some famous designer. Yada Yada Yada. I happen to love it, but not because of it’s value. It’s because it signified the official end of the Jewelry Spree. Good times. Good times.

After I bought that ring, there was an intervention by one of my friends. She talked about my spending versus my earning and made some good points. She was right. It was fine with me. I had THE RING. What else would I need?

And then it got cold. Real cold. Windy with no sun cold. Some people might say it was a bad winter. I’d say it was an

un-fucking-believably-no-human-should-have-to-live-like-this bad winter. My NYC loyalty was being tested. And with no shopping or new sparkles to look forward to, all I could think about was how to survive winter.

I’d walk outside, and even though I was bundled beyond belief in a hat, scarf, gloves, earmuffs, and layer upon layer underneath a heavy jacket and looked like I’d just gained 100 pounds, the minute I was outside, I couldn’t feel my feet. My nose was about to fall off, and my eyes teared.

I started to think I could live in a nice, hot suburb. I’ll learn how to drive. I’ll shop at Costco. I don’t care. Just get me out of this crazy ass weather.

And then one day while talking to my NGBF and cursing the temperature, I said, “This would be a great time to move to California.” She totally agreed. I said, “If I had a job, I’d move there tomorrow. It’s just one of those things you say like, “I’d love to run a marathon.” Or “We should jump out of an airplane.” Or “I’d love to date a guy from France.” It’d be great, but it’s never really going to happen.

Two days later, I was flying out to California for a job interview. Crazy, I know. My NGBF had mentioned it to a higher up in her company who had met me, and then found out they had a position they needed to fill in California.

But there I was in California, sitting in one of San Diego’s finest hotel’s lobbies, in the middle of craziness. I was with the manager of the hotel, hotel security and the San Diego Police. I was with one of the guys who was interviewing me, The Suit, and he was upset. They had me drawing a sketch. Answering questions. Going over every move I had made. It was nuts. But suddenly, I wanted this job, and I wanted to move to California.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Rubies, Emeralds, & Diamonds, Oh My! (Part 1)

I love NYC, and I’m a die hard fan. And I’d defend this position to the death, but in the winter my loyalty can be tested.

Knowing winter was almost here, me and my NGBF (Non-Gay Best Friend) decided to book a quick trip to Aruba. We went to a travel agent and told her we just wanted to be warm and drunk. Easy. Simple. Right?

We left out a few important facts, because she booked us at this disgusting hotel. Totally gross. It smelled and looked like it hadn’t been updated since 1975. I knew there was probably gallons of cum on the walls, and when I pulled the blanket off my bed there was some hair on it. Potentially pubes.

I immediately checked us out of the hotel and told them it was because of the cum and pubes. Then I called the travel agent. Again the cum and the pubes story. She said she couldn’t do anything. Her boss got on the phone. Again the cum and the pubes story. Most vacations have more cum and pubes action as opposed to talk. This trip sucked so far.

After a ton of phone calls, we were booked into a five star hotel in Aruba, without being charged extra. Things were looking up. Our room wasn’t ready, and it was the middle of the day, so instead of going swimming, we took a cab into town to shop and drink. We needed some stress relief, big time.

Aruba is known for jewelry. So after a few margarita’s, we shopped. We were experiencing drunk vacation shopping therapy. Not good. And once we started, we couldn’t stop. We bought jewelry almost every day. Needless to say, it was a little addictive.

At this time me and my NGBF didn’t make much money. She had just changed careers, and I was at yet another sales job. We probably couldn’t really afford Aruba, which is why we ended up at the 1975 Cum Pubic Hair Hotel. We definitely couldn’t afford the jewelry we bought, but we thought it’d stop in Aruba. You know, as we were flying back wearing 14 bracelets, 4 rings and 10 chains, looking like a couple of ‘80s Guidettes, we figured we had enough new jewelry. But once back in NYC, we realized Aruba had kicked off a jewelry shopping spree unlike any other.

I’d be walking down the street to pick up my dry cleaning and instead buy a diamond bracelet. My NGBF would be in the middle of work, just running out to grab a salad, and then she’d come back to the office with a diamond watch. The flood gates were open. We were out of control. We needed to be stopped. Something. Anything. We were buying jewelry as often as we peed, and something had to give.

And then it happened. I saw THE RING. And the sparkle was amazing. You see, that’s what this was all about. I love the sparkle. I’ve always loved the sparkle, and once I started buying the sparkle, I couldn’t stop. I wanted to be covered in sparkle. The more the better. You know that woman that wears her entire jewelry box every day? I aspired to own her collection. Demented, I know.

Some sparkle over on Fifth Avenue was calling my name, and it was about time I made a purchase. I called my NGBF and she sped over.

TO BE CONTINUED...