Lobster dinner & me

I consider myself socially tuned to the graces of etiquette such as eating expensive dinners and attending theatre events. My parents (actually more my sister) was very persistent that I learn the good graces of etiquette when I was a wee southern belle. Unfortunately, I was not of legal drinking age and they didn't prepare me for the difficulties in following these rules after a few glasses (or bottles) of wine.

Thanks to my lovely career in PR, every so often I get the invite to a fabulous new restaurants in the ATL. Such was the case last week when the new Maxim Prime opened in downtown. (Yes, that's the same Maxim as the magazine - yet the wait staff was sadly disappointing in the sex appeal arena)

The evening started off great -- free open bar, six great friends and a free $600 dinner just simply because I know the right people who know the right people. Attendees at my table included my lovelies, a boyfriend of one lovely and two friends from college that I haven't seen in a while. One of those 'friends' also happens to be someone I like to kiss from time to time. We managed to drink the better part of Tuscany in wine that night and I was feeling very happy by the time the main course was served - this is where things just got bad.

Lobster -- one of my favorite dishes was set in front of me. Since it was the opening - we all decided we should share our entrees. I was in the process of dividing one (yes, I got TWO full lobster tails) when in a very Pretty Woman moment it went flying off the plate and into my purse beside me. I mean -- one second it was there, the next totally gone.

Luckily, only the 'friend' saw and this sent me into hysterics - the quite hysterics that I just sat and laughed at myself for a good minute until I could contain myself again. What is that saying? ...you can take the girl out of the country but you can't... yeah, something to the effect.

The night ended perfectly as it should - with a kiss (or a dozen). I guess my etiquette isn't the breaking point with this friend.

Beach and Beer

Friday night I found myself drunk on a very familiar beach with my very dearest friend. It's a favorite spot for me - which I've shared with everyone and no one throughout my years being raised in Florida.

"The damn beach patrol is coming on the four-wheeler. We have to hide the case." Though we said it on Friday, its a phrase we've used since high school.

"We could dig a hole and bury it." We giggled.

"Or just put it in our laps and cover it with a blanket? Hope they don't ask us to stand up!"

Thirty minutes and several pictures to 'capture the moment' later - the beach patrol never made it to our spot. We continued to sit there and look out into the vastness of night and the gulf and plan our lives like we have been doing for so many years before.

"Atlanta will be our crazy years. But we'll come back here to raise our families next door to each other."

Our conversations drifted in and out of seriousness - mixed with laughter and tension at times. We've grown up and yet still look to each other for approval and guidance. We laughed at the many romantic encounters we had with ex-boyfriends on this beach. We talked about the difficulty in finding God's calling for our lives. We remembered one of the first times drinking together at prom. We questioned if we believed in loved. We toasted to our greatest memories.

Too many beers later we decided to go meet everyone else at the local beach bar. The night continued with fond memories with dear friends - most of whom I hadn't seen in months, some even years. It ended with the two of us once again on the beach - laughing and falling asleep on beach chairs.

"Just a quick nap to sober up." Giggles again.

Some of my life's most important decisions have been made with her on this beach. Its truly amazing what a best friend and a beach can do for you when you need it the most.

The little things...

I really enjoy the little treats Google provides on holidays by creatively lacing fun accents into their branding.

Thank you, Google -- you just made my day.

All-American Girl

My grandmother got the notion when I was young that I could be a model. I took modeling lessons and learned how to strike the right pose, walk a runway and hold a smile. I went to a modeling casting call in Orlando and a swimsuit company offered me an opportunity to move to Miami and pursue a career. I was 12 years old, skin and bones thin and 'beach' blonde hair from my days of growing up in Florida. I remember the director telling me in a very thick french accent "You are the girl next store, an all-american girl." I blushed with pride.

Twelve years later I can't think of a bigger insult. I know that may sound very strange but I can't help but wish I was more worldly. I have a dream account which I work on a very large global client with my company. I spend mornings on conference calls with my european colleagues and often late nights with the asian ones. (This sounds very glamours but I usually am just taking notes.) While on a call the other day with German, French and British colleagues I spent most of the call wondering how do I live in the greatest nation in the world yet feel so inadequate?

Don't get me wrong -- I'm a good 'ol southern conservative girl through and through. I like to watch football and drink a cold American beer while wearing pearls and a polo. But, I also am envious of the children growing up around the world - speaking two or three languages, learning world history by taking field trips to the actual historical sites and viewing the world as a whole. Americans are so fixated on American pride that we alienate ourselves from the rest of the world. It's really a shame.

One box at a time

There are times when so many thoughts are in my head I wish I could take a freeze frame to capture all my emotions. I've always dealt with emotions very poorly - avoiding them seemed the best tactic. Recently I've been better with dealing with them but I have to keep each category very organized and separate from the next. I often imagine my head as a card catalogue at a library -- each category fits neatly in its own box with separate thoughts and expressions.

My career box is always very neat, organized and full. I am constantly busy and happy - pursuing the next challenge head on determined to be the best. I think I have a great ability to think in business terms. I know how to read reporters, manage client needs and impress my superiors. (I also know how to do the exact opposite of all of these so its a delicate balance) I like a great challenge - I like feeling like perfection is within my grasp. Perhaps my greatest motivation is I also hate the possibility of failure. I think all these traits have created work ethic that I'm proud of and, with time, my successes will attest to.

Another equally as full and clean box would be my friends and family. I love both. I work hard to make sure they are happy. If asked, I can't think of anything I wouldn't do for them. It's part of the reason I feel so bad that I expect so much honesty and communication out of them but I have to admit, I give little of myself in return. In fact, I can honestly say I've never shared with anyone everything I wish I could -- there are some skeletons that must remain in the closet.

Other boxes such as personal finances, relationships and faith seem to have good days and bad days when it comes to organization. I think the day I will ultimately be happy with myself is the day all of these are equally tucked away. Then perhaps I won't wake up in the middle of the night worrying about my checking account or questioning if I really believe in love.

One day, I'll have it all figured out, color coded and sorted. Until then, I'll have to take my happiness one card catelogue at a time.