charlotte harris

I was souvenir shopping in Napoli and stopped to watch some boats pass under a footbridge.  There was no clearance for any boat, nor was there a drawbridge, so the boats and all their passengers had to submerge underwater to get beyond the bridge.  The boats would surface on the other side, the people on board soaking wet but happy to have passed.  And nobody floated away, either.  The boat traffic drew a crowd of spectators, none of us Italian, but we all thought it was a totally normal thing for boats to do. 

I kept walking.  I was wearing a very British-schoolgirl-looking outfit of a black sweater, shiny tall black boots, and a red plaid wool skirt that came to my knees.  It was difficult to walk in my heavy heavy heavy boots.  I finally entered a toystore where I thought I’d buy some Italian toys for my niece, but all the labels were written in English.  So I left there and decided to just go for a long run.

I found myself in my running clothes and on the W&OD trail.  Except the trail was on Long Island instead of Virginia, and I was running in Port Jefferson.  I wondered how I got there but then found a water taxi brochure in my pocket.  I realized I had taken a water taxi to the Unites States for the low price of $5.98.  I figured I would just jog until I got back to Napoli, but when I rounded the corner, I came face to face with a man in a gorilla costume doing kung fu type moves.

I screamed bloody murder because I thought he was about to attack me, and only then did I see behind him an entire group of men and women in black gorilla costumes with red pot-bellies, practicing to act in a Domino’s Pizza commercial. 

The gorilla man and I laughed when we both realized my mistake, and I kept on jogging.  At that point I was no longer running back to Napoli but running towards the month of March.

Then I woke up.

One month into my new gym membership, I feel like I am no longer the “new girl” at spin class.  Three mornings a week I sit on the same bike in the back row.   And NO I haven’t been making it to ALL three, EVERY week.

So if I am not the “new girl” anymore, why does everyone in class keep staring at me?! 

First there was the woman on the bike in front of me who kept turning around and looking at me.  I smiled a her the first time, she blank-stared back at me.  I half-smiled at her the second time and she blank-stared back at me again.  The third time she turned around, I just gave her my own blank stare (it’s very effective) and she, yep, blank-stared back at me.

Then there was the gay dude who kept looking over at me.  He has a happy grin pasted on his face all the time anyway, so I couldn’t tell if he was looking at me and smiling AT me, or just looking at me with his usual happy face.  Regardless, I was like… why is a gay man checking me out?!

And then there’s Chuck, who I know from the swim team.  Every time I look up, he is looking over at me.  I think… dammit Chuck, how many times in one hour do I have to acknowledge you?  It starts to get weird when I keep catching your eye and I feel obligated to smile ’cause we’re acquainted and all.  But can’t we say just good morning and exchange one big heartfelt smile and then get on with the workout?!

Well then today it hit me.  TODAY I finally figured out that the bike I sit on is positioned DIRECTLY in front of the only clock in the room!  And my height on the bike sometimes has me hiding the clock with my head!  And I spin with a bunch of clockwatchers.

So, I suppose now I am the creepy one.  For giving that lady the hairy eyeball.  For staring down the gay guy.  For smiling too much at Chuck. 

I may not be the “new girl” anymore… I am just the weird girl who stares at everybody. 

“It’s funny how we do these little things for male attention but the only ones who ever appreciate it are other women.”  - Dawn S.

She said that to me a few years ago when I was working my way through a bottle of body shimmer lotion.  I’d apply it to my bare arms every summer morning, thinking that the sparkles added a little definition on tank-top days.  Sitting next to me at lunch one day, she noticed the subtle glimmer and complimented me on it.  And then she said, “It’s funny how we do these things for male attention but the only ones who ever appreciate it are other women.”  Our friend Pete was eating with us and was like, “what sparkles?”  Dawn was right. 

Since then I’ve come to think that most of my specific beauty or fashion efforts go unnoticed by the opposite sex.  It’s simple… a man will either find me attractive or not, regardless of the little details I always thought made a difference.  Still, even if they don’t really make much of a difference to the fellas, the little details bring me a little bit of joy. 

Pete and the other guys in the office never noticed my sparkly lotion and probably never noticed any of my other girly embellishments.  But during one of many inappropriate happy hour conversations, I did learn that I was on the short list of fantasy girls in the office.  It wasn’t any of my primping that got me there either… they told me it was my smile.  And I think maybe the Jeep had something to do with it too… they were always asking me about the Jeep.

The things that do get me remarks from men, in general?  When I wear my knee high suede boots with the wedge heel.  When I merely talk about knee high boots.  When I wear the peep-toed espadrilles with a miniskirt.  New haircuts.  White jeans.  Necklaces… or maybe the necklace compliment is just to cover up when they think they’ve been caught staring in the general direction of my chest.

“I am totally enamored with the way you look tonight.” - MF

MF is different.  Yeah, he purrs over the knee high boots, but he also notices when I’ve spent a little extra time on my makeup and tells me I look “so pretty.”  When I wear little rhinestone bobby pins he tells me that he loves my hair like that.  He tells me I look hot when I wear my my slim-fit black cords.

Then the other night I got dressed and primped for my company party.  I wore a black and white geometric print dress with a v-neck and empire waist, tight on top, flirty and flowy on the bottom.  I wore nude fishnets and ruby-colored patent leather peeptoe slingbacks and a black necklace and a chunky ruby-colored bracelet.  I straightened my hair with rollers and applied a little extra eye shadow.   I pored over every detail because I wanted the confidence, even if nobody else noticed.  I did it for me.

MF gave me some sweet but predictable compliments when he first came to pick me up.  But it was later in the night when we were sitting together eating finger food, sipping drinks, and bopping our heads to the cover band on stage that he unexpectedly leaned over and whispered, “I am totally enamored with the way you look tonight.”

The things we women do for the opposite sex… finally caught me some male attention!

Starbucks.  Ashburn, VA.  Wednesday, 12:15pm.

Barista: Tall skim latte on the bar. 

Me:  Is this a grande?

Barista:  I heard you order a tall.

Me:  I ordered a grande.  stated firmly but with a smile

Barista:  to cashier  Did she order a grande?

Cashier:  blank stare 

The barista quickly poured me a new one and I went on my way.  Back in my car on the way to work I started to wonder.  I paid the cashier $2.94.  That’s the price of a tall.  The barista heard me order a tall.  Did I order a tall?  I’m positive in my mind I was thinking grande, but did the word tall come out of my mouth and I just didn’t hear myself?  I think the barista is right, and I am wrong.  OMG I just stole 4 ounces of latte! 

I returned to the office and told my story.  “I think I went crazy for a minute.  I said one thing but insisted that I said another.  Does this ever happen to anyone else?”  Someone suggested that it’s holiday stress or work anxiety getting to me.

Within moments we were all speaking freely over the cubicle walls, our managers all gone for an offsite meeting.  My fleeting episode of insanity sparked others to vent about their own recent  frustrations…

“My teenage daughter wants to use her learners permit.”

“I never get invited to those meetings.”

“I read another layoff rumor online.”

… and I realized I’m not the only one who is touched in the head this December.   Thank goodness if I have to go crazy at least I am not going alone.

At its best and in my youth, a snow day meant a day off from school and grilled cheese for lunch.  It meant hearing that unmistakable loud scraping sound and running for the front window where I’d kneel backwards on the furniture and watch the snow plow pass.  It meant bundling up and making snow angels in the back yard, and being at home to meet Paul the mailman at the door. 

Then away at college, a snow day was still the sort of lucky free time that I’d wish for upon hearing the first news of an impending storm.  It meant a day off from class and ordering pizza for lunch, watching movies in the dorm, lounging three-friends-wide on a twin bed and drinking beers in the middle of the day.  It meant bundling up in my patterned wool sweater and hiking boots and walking to 7-11 to stock up on magazines.  It meant sneaking bread and cheese from the dining hall to make grilled cheese snacks later on the waffle iron in our kitchenette.

Nowadays, a snow day means stocking the fridge with bread, butter, cheese and tomato soup.  It means packing my laptop and working from home because I’ve learned that appeasing the boss is not worth risking my life to make it to the office.   It means renting DVD’s or trudging through the snow to the movie theater to pass the time.  It means filling the gas tank, charging the cell phone, packing an overnight bag, and planning to be snowed-in together with someone special.  It means being relieved when it turns out NOT to be a snow day after all.

The forecasted icy weather “failed” us yesterday, so MF and I were not snowed in together like we planned.  Our Jason Bourne movie marathon was canceled and our comfy sweatshirts and wool socks went un-snuggled-in.  But you betcha I heated up a can of Campbells and buttered the skillet.  Seems no matter how the times change, snow days are really all about the grilled cheese. 

MF and I registered this morning for the Cherry Blossom 10-Miler coming up in April.  Or at least I did - online registration is ALREADY closed (12,000 slots filled up in only 4 hours!), so I am waiting to hear back from him to see if he got in! update: he got in!

That got me thinking about the other races I want to do in 2008, some running, some open water swims, some triathlons.  I made a wish list of races over on the right-hand side of my page.  I’m waiting to confirm some of those open water swim dates before I register for any races other than the two runs I’ve already committed to.

Some other dilemmas: That NJ State Tri sounds great, but do I really want to travel to the armpit of America and live in a hotel for a weekend?  I think the Patriot’s Int’l Tri and the Lake Montclair swim will be on the same day… how do I choose?!  Finally, do I really want to run a 10 mile road race in the swampy August heat? 

We’ll see.. I’ll update the list as I make firm decisions.  In the meantime it doesn’t hurt to dream a little… these are a few other sporty events I will only dream of doing in 2008:

Pyrenees Tri Camp, Bermuda Shorts Tri, Bermuda Round-theSound OWS

I guess it’s good if my only complaint last Monday morning was some stiff feet.

MF and I crossed the finish line together.  I’ll deny I ever said it, but between you and me, I had to slow down so that we could run alongside one another. 

It was a cold morning but the swag bag and the post-race food was worth getting out of bed for.  A long-sleeved technical tee, running socks, and a keychain flashlight were among the goodies.  Great Harvest Bread Co awaited us at the finish.  Free massages too… but we chose to head home to hot showers instead.

The course had a few good rollers and the last .1 mile before the finish line was a slight uphill… but that wasn’t the hardest part of the day.  I had lunch with his folks that afternoon.

Yep, it was a big Sunday.  I ran a 10K and met the parents.

I got “interviewed” over lunch at the Chinese buffet.  But then his mama inivited us to her home afterwards where she gave me some of her homemade apple jelly and told me to bring the jars back when I’m through.  So I guess that means she’d be OK if I hung around her son long enough to finish the jelly and return the empties?

I hope so, because he and I are running another 10K together on New Year’s Day.  

And that’s what I’ve been doing lately.  I miss you, internets!