The Brenda Diaries (6 page)

So there you have it. Two screwed up relationships that you’ll never see in some dippy romantic comedy even though, it pains me to admit, there is some fun being had there. If Jared can dial down the PDA about 75% it would be great…and I know Maya and Armie will break up…and I’ll stop texting Cal. Then life will be almost normal and normal is good even if they don’t make movies about it.

Friday, May 13:

My buzz from last night’s bar crawl has turned into a low grade hangover, but at least I don’t have to worry about Constance. Keelin says she’s on her way to Palm Springs for the weekend and won’t be back until Monday.

I have no reason to think Keelin is lying to me, but I have every reason to believe that Constance is parked outside, waiting for us to let our guard down so she can swoop in and tear us a collective new one.

I’m stuffing gift bags as fast as I can.

Saturday, May 14:

Disneyland with Jared and Maya! I’m so happy about this that even having to hang out with the two of them isn’t enough to kill my wholesome buzz. But Jared asking me to meet his parents for brunch tomorrow just as we’re next to ride the Matterhorn pretty much does.

“It’s going to be great. Don’t look so worried.” Jared helps me into the fake bobsled and settles in behind me. “They’re going to love you.”

“Great.” I smile at him—my boyfriend—but inwardly cringe at the word “love.” That’s the next step Jared will expect us to take, declaring our “love” for each other. “So what topics should I avoid (aside from the usual ones)?”

“My parents are pretty cool. Nothing is off limits.” Jared shifts around so his knees come up under my armpits. “Just be yourself. They’ll love you.”

“Okay.” I must sound nervous because Jared gives me a pat that lands on my boob instead of my shoulder. “What should I wear?”

“Whatever you want.” He plants a kiss on the top of my head. “You always look pretty, Brenda.”

Oh, my god. I’m going to unbuckle my belt and hurl myself off the side of this fake mountain.

Sunday, May 15:

When Jared said nothing was off limits for his parents, Lynne and Kent, he wasn’t kidding. As I’m handing his mom my water glass to help stave off her hot flash, I realize that in the 40 minutes since we met, I already know more about them than I do about my own parents.

Our conversation has bulldozed through the usual verboten topics of politics, religion and money, and veered into a long discussion about Lynne’s vaginal dryness, Kent’s obsession with Japanese anime as an art form (as well as a form of social commentary), and why Jared wasn’t fully potty trained until he was five. (Maybe it’s because Kent was reading him anime before bedtime?)

“How about you, Brenda?” Lynne asks fanning herself. Lynne used to teach gender and sexuality studies at the University of San Francisco, but now she takes pottery classes where she makes vulva shaped vases.

“Oh, um, I think I was potty trained by two or so.” Actually it was earlier. My mom told me that by age one I was pulling off my diaper and toddling over to the potty by myself. Thankfully, she’s never shared this or any bathroom related stories outside of our immediate family, which was a rule I thought most people followed. “So I’m all good there.”

Lynne and Kent burst out laughing making Jared look very proud that his parents find me amusing, but I’m not sure what the joke is.

“I think Lynne was asking about what the grand plan is.” Yes, Jared calls his parents by their first names, which is just wrong. Worse, his parents are the type of people who want to be friends with their kid, which is even more wrong. “You, know, for your future.”

“Oh, you mean, life-wise? I’m going to be honest and admit I haven’t given it much thought, but I like being a temp—working and stuff—so I’m going to keep doing that until, you know, I can’t.” I force myself to stop talking so Kent’s jaw doesn’t drop any further.

“I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard you say at once.” Jared stares at me with his wide, blue eyes.

“Yeah, well.” I look around for the waiter so I can ask for some more ice water—to drown myself in.

Lynne steps in to fill the awkward silence that has engulfed our table. “Jared, tell us about your internship. Have you met anyone famous?”

“So your plans are to do this…temp work?” Kent steers the conversation back to me even though I’m pretty sure we’ve exhausted the topic.

“Yes.” I try not to sound defensive, but I do.

Kent runs a foundation. He travels around the world looking for worthy people and programs to bestow grants upon. From the look on his face, I’m not one of those people.

“It must be very interesting.” Lynne tries again.

Jared, the good boyfriend that he is, throws himself on the train tracks for me. “I’m writing a screenplay.”

“Damn it, Jared.” Kent drops his head into his hands in despair. Lynne tries to look encouraging.

“What’s it about?” she asks.

Jared rambles on about it, which leads to talk about his classmates from Harvard, the people he works with and friends he grew up with. They all seem to be either hyper successful or burnouts. Jared falls somewhere in the middle even with his foray into screenwriting. But hey, at least he’s not a temp.

Monday, May 16:

Keelin says Constance was impressed at how I organized the swag closet. (It’s a thing of beauty and took me all day.) And she said Constance even remembered my name. This can’t be good.

Tuesday, May 17:

Now, as far as temps go, I’m a pretty kick ass one. I’m always on time, super professional and I’ve never walked out on an assignment. Never. When my agency called and asked if I was open for a two-weeker, I said yes. When she told me who it was, I said I’d do it for an extra $7 an hour.

See, what people don’t understand is that us temps stick together and we share information. No parking at a particular assignment? People talk. One-ply toilet paper? That’s definitely going to come up. Skeezy manager who tries to feel you up in the copy room? From what I understand no agency in Los Angeles will send a temp to that particular company anymore.

I have four days left on my assignment for Constance. Despite the fact that she’s the biggest bitch on the planet, people are practically crawling over glass to get her to organize their events. I don’t know if being a bitch makes her good at what she does or she’s a bitch because of what she does, but she’s a bitch. She yells. She throws things. She picks on people. And that’s just how she treats her clients.

I don’t expect the people I work for to offer to donate a kidney if I happen to need one, but I do expect a little common courtesy. Despite the fact that I hate working for her, I refuse to quit. I have a perfect record at my agency and I’m not going to ruin it because of some mean person.

I’m doing my work, counting the days and reevaluating what an extra $7 an hour is really worth.

Wednesday, May 18:

Whatever good thing happened to Constance in Palm Springs over the weekend has worn off. She’s been raging all morning. Keelin says she can’t take much more of this. I’ll make sure to get her a venti latte when I do the afternoon Starbucks run.

Thursday, May 19:

Keelin is ignoring me and I know why. It’s because Constance isn’t dry heaving at the sight of me anymore. If she accuses me of kissing ass, I’ll have to set her straight. The only ass I kiss is my own and it took years of gymnastics classes to be able to do it.

Friday, May 20:

When I was in the second grade my crazy aunt gave me a T-shirt with a unicorn galloping under a rainbow through a field of lollipops. I loved the hell out of that shirt. I loved it so much that by the third grade, it was almost see-through from all the washings it had endured. (I was a pretty grubby kid.) Putting on that shirt just made me so damn happy that I measure all good things against the feeling it gave me.

Today I’m feeling that, times ten.

I made it through this hellish assignment which wasn’t so awful, task-wise, except for the person who was in charge of doling out the work. She’s awful even if I do admire how successful she is. (Gotta give her credit for turning a party planning business run out of a garage in the Valley into a mini-empire where she gets to interview potential clients and not the other way around.)

The meaner she got, the more I was determined to stay. Some alpha jerks climb Mount Everest, freezing their nobs off, but for me the pinnacle to temp endurance will be waving buh-bye with my middle finger at 6 o’clock on the dot.

Thing is, I overheard some chatter that Constance wants to ask me back for next week. And you know what I’m going to say? Well, I’m not sure. An hour ago it would have been “Hell, no!” but now I’m wondering what comes after Everest.

Saturday, May 21:

Cal, the highlighter thief, wants me to go see his band play, but I already have tentative plans to hang out with Jared. I’m a champion multi-tasker, but even I think trying to combine the two is not a good idea. Still, I do like a challenge.

Sunday
, May 22:

Realized I can’t juggle two guys who both need 100% of my attention. Rushed back and forth between Jared and Cal and ended up twisting my ankle. I’ve learned my lesson. Boyfriends and flirt friends should not mix. Staying home today and, literally, washing my dirty laundry.

Monday, May 23:

Glenn and Sherri are annoyed with each other. Except Glenn has no clue as to why or what’s going on with his wife, and Sherri doesn’t understand why Glenn doesn’t get it. I miss tax season.

Tuesday, May 24:

I went to college and from what I’m hearing on the news lately, I can blame it for all my problems. Instead of spending thousands of dollars filling my brain with useless knowledge, I could have traveled the world, done all sorts of fun stuff and come back to exactly where I find myself right now, but with a lot more to talk about at cocktail parties.

Instead, I’m working a job that’s just a job, paying back student loans as slowly as possible and contributing to the downfall of American society because I’m totally okay with things as they are.

Yay, me.

Enough bitching. I have to seal dozens of envelopes with my own spit then trek down to the post office. For this I went to college instead of smoking hash in Katmandu.

Wednesday, May 25:

Glenn and Sherri have made up—twice since I got here this morning. I’m not sure how they expect me to get any work done if I have to keep rushing out so I don’t have to overhear their grunts and sex talk.

Thursday, May 26:

I read some story about some gal who got stoned to death in some country where they do that to people for thinking about having sex with anyone but the dude they’re married to. Worse, my first thought wasn’t about human rights or how screwed women are in that part of the world, but “Jaysus Crispy, I’m sure glad I don’t live there.”

Yes, I’m ashamed that my first thought was for myself and not for the tons of women who don’t have a right to bone whoever they want. I took two Women’s Studies classes in college, but I guess I’m just a selfish person who skips the downer stories in my Marie Claire magazine every month.

I’m in a funk that not even a new pair of rainbow striped socks can pull me out of. I guess this is what it feels like to have a guilty conscience, which is confusing because I haven’t done anything so terrible. I’m really judgy when it comes to Maya and her new daddy substitute, Armie. If she found out what my fingers have been up to, she’d gloat her way straight into an aneurysm. She’s that kind of person.

See, I’ve been texting Cal on a pretty regular basis and I know if Jared happened to read these texts, he’d be really hurt by them. But Jared would never peek at my Blackberry because he trusts me. Just like he trusted me the other night when I told him I was going over to see my parents who were so (not) sick with the flu. Instead, I went to see Cal and his band play at some divey club. We just hung out. Nothing happened. He did try to kiss me, but I pushed him away. It wasn’t like, “Hey, jerkwad, try that again and I’ll punch you in the nuts.” Nope, it was more of a “Tee-hee-hee! Cut it out, you gorgeous pig.”

So, yeah, I feel bad even though, technically, I haven’t cheated on Jared. And I won’t cheat on him because that would be really lousy of me and I like to think I’m not a lousy person. At least I hope I’m not—even if my
Marie Claire
reading habits say otherwise.

The only way to make sure nothing happens is to stop seeing Cal and definitely stop texting him. Or, maybe, I can bring Jared along the next time Cal asks me to come see him play. Keeping my boyfriend a secret from the boy I’m flirting with might not get me stoned to death, but it is keeping me up at night.