Tuesday, July 12, 2011

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...

13 comments:

  1. A lot of the time I find my existence to be a bit dull. Your stories kind of make me thankful for that. I don't think I would survive being much more exiting. I shall be vicariously spontaneous. Hope you don't mind.

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  2. Isn't SD a very poor third cousin to LA and SF. An excellent place to shoot good drama and a good place to park shipping. So I hear anyway. But certainly a place that a Rock with it's own gravitational pull might be classed overdressing.

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  3. I want to assure you that all of California is not like San Diego. San Francisco is more like London, fog and all. I have a feeling that all of the "action" in that San Dog hotel lobby was because you somehow got separated from your dazzling piece of bling, i.e., the ring.


    That would not have happened in San Francisco because here you would not have let it slip off your finger in the first place. Now, I know what you are thinking, it could have happened anywhere, but actually, that's not true. The gay men in San Francisco would think it was a tad garish. (Yes, Sweetheart, they would. Oh they would admire it, but then whisper to each other with a lifted perfectly groom brow "cubic zirconia" and smirked a little when you weren't looking.

    Not only that, there's none of the beach nonsense in SF. You leave your jewelry firmly in place at all times. It turns hot here 3 days a year, and then you would swell up so much that even if you went to the beach, you would be unable to remove the ring because of the swelling from the heat, plus the tasty San Francisco Sour Dough French Bread that you would no doubt have been enjoying.

    The swelling would have kept your ring on your finger even if you encountered a mad robber with a knife or a gun. He (or she) could not get that ring off you if he or she had to. If it's the person with the gun who wants it, he or she would not shoot it off your finger because that would fuck up the ring. If it is the person with a knife, they would most probably cut it off your finger by cutting off your finger to get at it. But that's messy and a lot more work. Most robbers in SF are fairly lazy, due to the wonderful cool temperatures and laid back lifestyle.

    Okay, now I want to find out the ending of this somewhat sad (I think I see where it's going) tale. I can't wait till you come to SF for a visit!

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  4. Did i miss something? Was the ring stolen??

    lol@Mom's long commentary. I knew she would run to rescue the image of dear old California :D. Thats her baby!

    I am totally ignoring the fact that you spent 11,000 on a ring....sighing with longin..diamonds are a girl's best friend. really!

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  5. Of course you have to move to CA! A girl can't run around Manhattan with an $11,000 ring on your finger! Sounds like wise decisions all around!

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  6. California knows how to par-tay!!! :-D Wait a minute...sketch artist, security...uh oh...

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  7. Not sounding good. The big OC would more than welcome you with that bling you've got. You'd never be overdressed, even at the beach. But stick to Newport Beach. :D

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  8. What? California? Do you leave New York? Do you stay and wind up pawning the ring?? What was in your sketch???

    Still reading!

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