Who You Know
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Rette. I'd always imagined being the sort of adventurous girl who'd have an affair with a dark-eyed stranger on the Eurail. Instead, I'm getting married, planning the wedding of my mom's dreams, and searching for a dress that can cover my size 14 body without making me look like a toilet paper cover...Jen. Waking up with a searing hangover on a workday? Not good. Waking up to discover you're not alone in bed is ohmygod not good. I'll admit that lately I've been a bit out of control. But I'm going to get it together, I promise. Right after I make that cute guy from IT into my love slave...Avery. Asleep on the couch at ten o'clock - just another Saturday night for me. Maybe there's no such thing as romance. Maybe it's just a concept created by marketing executives to sell perfume, candles, and weekend getaways. Still, hope springs eternal. And it's got to be better than working for a living...right? Against the backdrop of Colorado's majestic mountains, three friends are about to discover that dating can be more fun than a root canal, every job has its silver lining, and who you know may not only take you places - it may give you the best times of your life...
for the Denver Post. I do some freelance work for magazines as well. How about you?” “I work in marketing.” “Do you like it?” “Oh my god no . . .” I told him what a cesspool my company was, and how poorly managed it was. I told him about how I dealt with my frustration by depicting salespeople and executives with hideous diseases, and soon John was cracking up. “So what’s it like at your office?” I asked. “It’s like any job. I have some great friends there and some people I’d be completely
just wanted a judge and not a minister. And I didn’t like Greg’s dad, Ralph, at all. The first time I’d met him, Greg’s mom, Claire, was busy cooking dinner in the kitchen and Greg hopped in the shower, leaving me and Ralph alone together in the living room watching a sitcom. Just when a punchline was about to be delivered, Ralph flipped to the Home Shopping Network. After a minute or so, he flipped back to the sitcom, and so on, back and forth, totally oblivious to the fact that I might be
America was a sweatshop filled with people in suits. And the worst thing is that I wouldn’t have to put in these obscene hours if it weren’t for the grotesque incompetence of management. It reminds me of this thing that happened over Thanksgiving. We were at Greg’s parents’ place, and Greg’s two little cousins, they were three and four and cute as can be, they were bopping each other on the head, saying, ‘You! Are! Stupid!’ It was adorable. They could say exactly what was on their mind. You can’t
wrap. I got a quart of light eggnog and a bottle of rum and spread the presents, wrapping paper, tape, scissors, and ribbons out in front of me. To save calories, I poured drinks that were more rum with a splash of eggnog than vice versa, but it was festive nonetheless. I hadn’t bothered to do a whole Christmas tree deal, but I did adorn my living room with sparkling lights. I held my glass up to toast myself. “To more money and new adventures.” I drained my glass. Actually, I didn’t get a raise
through our bedroom.) The place seemed small and old and poorly decorated. Christmas morning I woke up early. I lay on the air mattress, staring at the ceiling for a long time, willing myself to go back to sleep, thinking about how dealing with my family would be slightly less horrendous if I weren’t sleep deprived. But finally I gave up, put on my robe, and padded through the house, turning on the Christmas tree lights. I made coffee, settled into the battered reclining chair and stared,