10:25 A.M.
* * *
OH GOD. HEINOUS. It tastes like watered-down chocolate milk that was produced at a nuclear waste site. BLEGH. How can I fix this?? Let’s throw in that apple, the yogurt, maybe some almond butter, and … vanilla extract? Cinnamon? A handful of the cereal?
10:30 A.M.
* * *
SHIT SHIT SHIT. Forgot to put the top back on the blender before starting it. Disgusting protein concoction/cereal pieces are all over the kitchen/myself. Ugh.
Towels! I need paper towels!!
10:42 A.M.
* * *
All right; kitchen’s clean. I used the pugs as mini makeshift Swiffers by letting them lick the sticky remains off the floor. Also managed to gulp down the remaining protein shake by using coffee as a chaser of sorts. Now it’s time to get dressed.
10:55 A.M.
* * *
How on earth are all my jeans so tight?? HOW?! What evil curse was cast upon me to keep my metabolism from working?!?
11:02 A.M.
* * *
UGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!
11:10 A.M.
* * *
Finally found a pair of pants that fit me. And by pants, I mean leggings. I don’t really have time to take a shower, so I’ll have to use Val’s dry shampoo instead.
11:02 A.M.
* * *
Shit. Val’s dry shampoo is meant for brunettes only. Now I have an awkward brown streak running down the middle of my shiny scalp.
Hmmm. Maybe if I cover more of the top, I can pass it off as ombré?
11:09 A.M.
* * *
My head is a biohazard.
I reek of aerosol and protein powder and god knows what else. My hair is a nasty mess of dirt brown and white powder, like a post-erupted Mount Vesuvius. Revolting. Where are all my beanies?
11:16 A.M.
* * *
Mom hid all my beanies because they are “strictly winter wear.” Only floppy hats are allowed until October at the earliest. UGH. I don’t have time to wash my hair in the sink. Putting it up in a ponytail and leaving.
12:03 A.M.
* * *
… You’ve got to be kidding me.
Pulling up to Megan’s apartment complex, I was only slightly shocked to see a complimentary valet service out front. I banged my head on the roof of the car as I made my way out, sending a puff of powder into the air from the dry shampoo. I marched through the steel revolving doors and into the elegant art deco lobby that I’m in now, with sweeping high ceilings and smooth marble floors. Light is pouring in through the tall glass windows, which are adorned with golden leaf-shaped spandrels, and the whole room glows a beautiful copper.
It’s perfect. It’s freaking perfect. All the apartments in West Hollywood, and Megan had to find the PERFECT ONE. There’s no way she appreciates this majesty! I bet she doesn’t even know what a chevron is!!
1:35 P.M.
* * *
I give up on literally everything.
After I’d waited in the lobby for fifteen minutes, the elevator let out a sharp ding as the metallic doors opened wide. Out walked Megan—arms outstretched, hip popped, and pink jumpsuit customized with a golden MM—sending a shudder of self-consciousness down my slightly slouched spine.
“AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! YOU’RE HEEERREERERRREEE!”
Her piercing shriek echoed against the marble-and-concrete walls. I tried not to cringe as she ran toward me and threw her arms around my waist, subtly grabbing at my back fat.
“Yeahhhhh!” I imitated with the exuberance of Stephen Hawking.
Megan rocked back and forth with me in her arms, throwing me off-balance so that I was forced to hug her back.
“I’m so, so, SO happy to see—EEK!”
Megan gasped and ripped herself away from the hug, covering her mouth in horror.
“OMG, is that dandruff??” she asked, pointing to my snow-covered shoulders.
My cheeks burned as I tried to brush my shirt clean with one hand. “No, it’s dry shampoo,” I muttered to the marble floor.
Megan breathed a heavy sigh of relief. “Oh, thank goodness! I was wondering why you smell like great-aunt Gerty.”
Ugh.
We made our way into the elevator and pressed the button labeled PH: penthouse. She started fiddling with a cursive golden necklace that spelled Megan hanging from her neck, and I wondered how many other items she owned that were embroidered with her name/initials.*
“Isn’t this place, like, totes retro? Daddy says it’s from the Golden Age of Hollywood,” Megan bragged, as if I couldn’t tell that from the fluted woodwork. “I know the lobby’s, like, a little dingy, but the room is totes redone!”
I took a deep breath and put on a strained smile as we arrived at the fifteenth floor. We walked across the hallway and to the corner apartment, where we stepped into possibly my worst nightmare.
How could she?! All the charm of the lobby was ruined, replaced by freshly painted, sterile white walls that nearly rendered me blind. There was faux fur everywhere, with dangling twinkle lights and mini lanterns hanging from the ceiling. There was so much pink, I felt dizzy. Even the dreaded Moroccan poufs were present.
That, and the massive window overlooking the skyline of Los Angeles.
Megan threw herself onto her white denim couch, tossing fluffy pillows in all directions. I walked over to the window, wondering if there might be some way to jump out.
“Soooooo? What do you think?” she asked rhetorically.
I took another look around Barbie’s Dream Suite before answering. “It’s … I mean, this view is magnificent.”
Megan gave a satisfied squeak and stretched her arms overhead, her contour-enhanced abs peeking through. “I knew you’d love it! I’m so obsessed. It was, like, such a pain pulling out the old tiles ’cuz of all the permits and stuff, but it was so worth it. You wouldn’t even know it was in such a stuffy old building.”
I suppressed a gag. “Right. So, how was Europe?” I asked, desperate to change the subject.
Megan gasped and swung her legs to the floor, sitting upright. “OMG, Lou. Europe was, like, SO incredible, I can’t even.”
I nodded, as if this sentence made any sense.
“Obvi I’ve been to Europe before, but not as, like, a real human, you know? Like, over eighteen and stuff. I’m totes a different person now. Like, I’m awakened or something. I just understand the world so much better.”
I put on a thoughtful expression and leaned against the giant window, half hoping it would break. Megan kept going:
“Just like: why are we so lazy in America? It’s so gross. Everyone walks everywhere in Europe. And the food is, like, SO much less processed. I ate bread every day and didn’t gain a pound.”
“You know, actually,” I interjected, “in Japan, it’s customary to slaughter the animal at the table to verify the freshness of the food.”
Megan blinked at me. “Ew.”
I leaned a little harder against the window. “So, anyway,” I said, clearing my throat, “I’m glad you had a good time!”
Megan put a hand on her heart and closed her eyes theatrically. “For real, though, if I didn’t have my new job and this new apartment, I, like, never would have left,” she declared.
The smile plastered on my face was starting to hurt. I walked across the room and took a seat on one of the pink poufs. “Speaking of your new job: How is it?” I asked, though I didn’t want to know.
“AMAAAAAAAAZING!!!” she belted out, her voice only slightly lower than Stacey’s. “The vibe is so chill, and Elysie is such a queen—she’s, like, my spirit animal. Every day at my job is, like, a dream come true.”
She brought her moisturized legs onto the couch, crisscross style. “OMG, but what about you, Lulu? Did you … hear back from Holistic yet?”
She smiled slyly, arrogance already painted onto her made-up face. Oh my god. She knew! She knew, and she was asking me anyway! I bet he
r auntie Stacey had told her allllll about my little rejection, but she just HAD to hear me say it. I could feel her smugness radiating like the rays of a bratty, bitchy white sun.
“Actually, I have an interview at a different job,” I spat out defiantly.
Megan’s haughtiness wavered. “Really?” she asked suspiciously. “What job?”
My body tensed up. I hadn’t gotten that far. “It’s this … uh … you know … it’s a start-up,” I lied.
Megan’s smile turned vicious. She crossed her arms and tilted her nose up at me, narrowing her beady brown eyes. “Oh? What’s the start-up? Have I heard of it?”
My fingers itched for something to fiddle with. I grasped the edges of the pink pouf for comfort.
“It, well, um…” I fumbled along, frantically looking around the room for inspiration. My eyes bolted from pink object to pink object until they finally landed on an M-shaped clock.*
“… it has to do with time. Time management. It’s a start-up that helps with time management,” I quickly decided.
Megan seemed unconvinced. I stumbled on: “Yeah, so, it’s a start-up that helps people who are, you know … disorganized. It helps disorganized people learn to manage time. It’s an app! It’s a time-management app for smartphones that’s in early development, but the company hopes to launch it in the fall. I’d be consulting. I have an interview this week.”
I buttoned up my story with a confident nod. I couldn’t believe how smoothly the lies were pouring out of my mouth! How long does it take to become an expert in something? Ten thousand hours? I must be pretty far along!
Megan gave me a quick up-down and clucked her tongue before uncrossing her arms, defeated. Her smirk went sour while mine became genuine for the first time since parking the car. Ha-ha! After years of putting up with Megan’s abuse, I finally found the secret to defeating her: unabashed, pathological lying.
“Well, then … congrats, babe.” Megan sneered. “You just have to tell me how it goes.”
I tossed my ponytail to one side—the way my mom always does—and gave a small shrug. “Thanks, Meg! I’ll let you know right away,” I threw back at her.
Megan’s gaze wandered down my body, and she scrunched up her nose. “Do you know what you’re going to wear?” she asked, the judgment oozing from her invisible pores.
I looked down at my striped T-shirt and leggings. “Uh—I’m not sure? I’ll ask my mom,” I answered flatly.
The snooty smile swiftly returned to Megan’s face. Shit.
“Oooo! Come with me! I have just the thing.”
* * *
Mama Shell
AUGUST 18
2:15 P.M.
* * *
Once again I tried taking a selfie this morning to spice up my Instagram page, but all I did was waste fifteen perfectly good minutes attempting to find an angle in which I only have one chin. Ugh.
I have acquired a serious newfound respect for Valentina and her social media aptitude. Never again will I judge the countless hours she spends planning, executing, and editing what I once called “silly pictures.” Every brightly lit salad bowl or shadowless floppy hat shot is a goddamn work of art as far as I’m concerned. If he were born a millennial, Da Vinci probably would have been a blogger.
Officially replacing “create personal brand” with “learn how to use social media” on list of short-term goals.
AUGUST 19
Unknown Number
AUGUST 20
12:40 P.M.
* * *
Guess what? Today is my super exciting marketing interview! What a wonderful time to be me!!!
Just kidding. Today, I am getting dressed up in a frilly, slightly snug white blouse and pink blazer that my nemesis picked out for me, and lying to both of my parents about a job interview that I don’t have for a start-up that doesn’t actually exist.
I’ve never felt like more of an idiot.
The supposed interview is taking place at Viva Grenada—an Italian/Spanish fusion café in Hollywood—so that’s where I’ll be getting lunch today. I’d invite a friend to join me, but I still don’t have any, which means I’ll be eating alone.
Thrilling.
1:12 P.M.
* * *
FINALLY found parking. I had to circle the café seven times in the hopes of avoiding valet. Fifteen dollars for an hour? Theft, I say!
1:14 P.M.
* * *
Wow, the restaurant is pretty busy! I should have known. I’ve heard Theo talk about this place at least a dozen times, so it must be great. All right, I should probably eat something healthy. A nice salad? A piece of fish, perhaps? Let’s look at the menu …
1:16 P.M.
* * *
Oh my god, house-made pasta with a Bolognese sauce?! I must have it. It’s Thursday, so it’s pretty much the weekend anyway!
1:20 P.M.
* * *
The waiter just asked if I was expecting someone else. I mumbled no under my breath and watched his face twist with pity. Ugh. Going to restaurants alone is humiliating. I’m never doing it again.
1:25 P.M.
* * *
Actually, going to restaurants alone is kind of nice! No food restrictions, no pesky conversations to keep up with … Maybe I’ll do this more often!
1:31 P.M.
* * *
I. AM. SO. BORED. And I’m positive everyone in this restaurant thinks that I’m being stood up. Writing in the journal is helpful, though, since it looks like I might be a writer or poet or something. Damn, I should have brought my laptop! No one questions a girl in a café with a laptop.
How long would this interview normally be? Fifteen minutes? I feel like fifteen minutes is more than acceptable. I’m turning down this theoretical job, anyway. I’ll leave as soon as I finish my pasta.
1:35 P.M.
* * *
CODE RED. CODE RED. THEO JUST WALKED IN WITH ANOTHER WOMAN.
Currently hiding under my table to keep him from seeing me. What is he doing here? Isn’t he supposed to be at work?? And who is she? Must investigate further.
1:40 P.M.
* * *
Okay, I ran to the bathroom with a dessert menu covering my face and caught a glimpse of the mystery woman. She has to be thirty-five at LEAST, with the most stunning curly red hair I’ve ever seen. Wow. I bet she does read Nietzsche. UGH. I can’t believe it. Come to think of it … Theo has been unusually busy as of late. Working late hours with “Charlize” and “Leonardo” … Oh god. Am I being cheated on?? I’ll die if Theo’s cheating on me with a freckle-faced older woman who may or may not have an interest in nihilism. And after protecting him from my mother all this time?! I’m going back in there, dammit!!
2:15 P.M.
* * *
As if today could get even more humiliating.
I crept out of the bathroom toward my lonely corner table, nose shoved deeply into the menu, still trying to steal looks at my boyfriend and the anonymous redhead. While craning my neck backwards, I managed to walk straight into a particularly short counter stool, tumbling over it and into a rolling cheese cart with a clank. The cart barreled forward, crashing into an empty table, sending cheeses flying in every direction. Rolls of Brie and Gouda rained down onto the floor and me, still on the ground, frozen from shock and mortification. All eyes whipped in my direction.
“Lou?!”
Theo’s voice hit the back of my head harder than the cheeses hit the floor. I slowly turned around and choked on a fit of nervous giggles, trying to smile as though nothing had just occurred.
“Theo?!” I managed in a surprised manner. Both he and the redhead were staring wide-eyed at me. Waiters were rushing to pick up the fallen mold while customers uncomfortably tried to look away. Theo jumped up and ran over, kneeled to my level, and placed a caring hand on my knee.
“Are you okay?” he asked, worry lacing his furrowed brows. I peeked over his shoulder at the human version of Ariel, who was gaping at me as if I were an
actual train wreck.
“What, me? Of course I’m okay! I’m fine! I’m great! Just clumsy, as usual! Ha-ha-ha-ha!”
The giggles escaped in an awful burst as Theo hoisted me to my feet. I brushed myself off, picking both the menu and my journal off the floor as the restaurant returned to its usual bustle.
“What are you doing here?” Theo asked as though I had something to explain to him. “And, uh … what are you wearing?”
I looked down at my frill-covered white blouse, which I realized had several red pasta stains on it. I frantically buttoned up the blazer and crossed my arms across my chest.
“I had a job interview,” I swiftly lied. “I was going to tell you later.”
Theo’s face lit up with excitement that filled the entire café. “What?!” he asked, grabbing me by both arms. “That’s amazing! How’d it go??”
Suddenly the ridiculousness of the situation washed over me like a tidal wave. I am such an ass! That’s not the face of a cheater! That’s the face of a loyal and loving boyfriend who’s yet to realize that his girlfriend’s a complete dunce.
The mysterious redhead approached us timidly from behind Theo—her round face assessing the sad scene. “Is everything all right over here?” she asked. Theo spun around and nodded a little awkwardly.
“Yes, everything’s fine! Lou, this is my boss,” he said. “Jackie, this is Lou. Lou is my girlfriend.”
Jackie’s hesitation melted away and she smiled at me, extending a freckle-covered hand. I took it limply, all but dead from embarrassment. She gave it a firm shake.
“Well, hey there, Lou!” she said. “It’s nice to meet you! You took quite a tumble there, didn’t you?”
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