I’m like a Real Housewife except I don’t want this drama! I’m not on a reality TV show, I’m not rich and I’m just not that exciting.
But drama always seems to fall into my lap. Maybe it’s because I’m sensitive? Or reactive? Or Italian?
Some time ago I took on a writing coach. I wrote briefly about him; how I felt so
professional cool saying “my writing coach”. My relationship with my writing coach was short-lived.
Let me start at the beginning.
I found him on Craig’s List in August. We agreed to meet at Panera Bread. I did check him out and he seemed legit.
He texts he’s running a bit late.
I text: I am here, seated right when u come in, pink laptop [side note: you know I have a pink laptop.]
He comes in a bit flustered and doesn’t look anything like I had imagined, but really how often does that happen where the person looks exactly as you envisioned?
He apologizes for running late. “I wanted to catch a ride with my mom, and I had to wait for her to put her make-up on.”
“Um…OK,” I respond; wondering things like does he have a car? Does he live in his mother’s basement?
My second thought was: I’m pretty sure he’s gay. Which is fine. You know how I love the gays.
We get to work, and I have to say he taught me many great things worthy of my money for that afternoon. By the end I was even fond of him.
At one point his mother came up to our table. She was this adorable tiny older lady. She reminded me of a Golden Girl. She was definitely a Blanche. Her make-up was flawless. Her silver hair was pulled up in a beautiful bun with wispy pieces falling by her eyes. I thought, Wow, this is what I’m going to look like when I’m old! No running around in curlers and robes for me…
He introduces me. Mom and I shake hands and she eyes me telling me its soooo nice to meet me. Emphasizing the so.
“Very nice to meet you, too.”
I wondered what she was thinking. Probably that I’m a nice and pretty girl and she wished her son would take a liking to me. Everyone loves an Italian girl!
We wrap up and agree to meet again.
The next day, Sunday, he texts me: nice meeting you! Did you sign into LinkedIn yet?
Me: You too! No I can’t get anything done at home. Will try to tonite or tomorrow.
WC [Writing Coach]: Ok! Wrote all weekend…tired but in a good way.
Me: Awesome! Good job! I’m jealous.
WC: Need 500 word by tomorrow 9am!! An early morning writing session, I think!
And that’s how it began.
Numerous texts and emails back and forth. I sent WC a couple chapters of my book. He loved what I had but also gave me constructive criticism. I was beyond thrilled. Like the time I was interviewed and suddenly saw myself at the Oscars, my mind again went racing.
He was like the perfect BFF and I’ve always wanted a gay BFF, I mean, all the celebs have one! So I started referring to him as my GBFF. I’d send my girls an email: So GBFF is home watching All My Children right now. Oh my God, he’s soo gay, and I’m soo lucky to have a gay BFF!
The girls were equally excited because when you’re married there is nothing better than a gay BFF. You have someone to shop with, you get a man’s opinion on your shoes/outfit/hair/make-up and yet there is no drama – you don’t have to worry about any sex happening. They are always painfully honest but without getting into trouble. If your husband told you that you should put more Vitamin A on that stretch mark you’d probably break his face. But, if your GBFF tells you – OMG, you better fucking listen!
I mean, it’s seriously perfection.
The texting fun continues – and I love that it’s all so innocent! I mean, he’s my GBFF right?!?
WC: Clearing my desk for labor day weekend—getting up early—coffee, writing, pool and reruns of murder she wrote
WC: Plus shopping!
Me: Sounds perfecto!
WC: Writing now & watching general hospital…jax is back in town!
WC: Ha ha!
[I mean, dude is totally gay right?????]
The girls are pressing me for what GBFF looks like. They are imagining Bethenny’s wedding planner.
This is when shit gets weird.
Me: BTW are you on FB?
WC: No…LinkedIn is enuf!
WC: Do you want me to look you up?
WC: On Fb?
Me: Lol! [FYI, if I ever don’t know how to respond to a text I write LOL, so if you know me and get that text from me….ummm….I don’t know what you’re talking about.]
WC: Naked, drunk or other compromising pics?
WC: Like Prince Harry!!!
[I’m reading the first text, then the smiley face, and thinking wtf, where is he going with this? I’m so confused. Then when he follows up with Prince Harry (who had just had the naked Vegas scandal) so I was like OMG, of course GBFF has seen Harry’s toosh!]
Me: lol lol no! [Still a bit confused]
Me: My friends wanted to see a pic of my “writing coach”.
WC: Check your email
[WC sends me an [financial] article he was interviewed for which included a picture of him.]
Me: great article! Wayyy over my head! Nic pic too!!
WC: Of course I can do the “tee-shirt, jeans and clogs with messy hair and stubble”, if that’s what the “client” wants—what are your girlfriends “into”??
[Ok, What. The. Fuck. I don’t respond because I’m like really confused at this point. My brain is going – wait, is GBFF not gay? I’m really confused right now. 10 minutes later – with no response from me – WC texts.]
WC: Just joking!!!
[Here’s me…Phew…he’s only joking! But still a little like wtf I respond Hahaha instead of my usual LOL for ‘seriously what the fuck are you talking about’.]
WC: If the “client” wants me to look ½ way between a vampire and a fireman, well, I think I can do that too…
[OK what is with all this quoting of “client”….what is going on right now? Now I’m freaking out. I’m perspiring. I don’t think GBFF is gay. I run to the bathroom. I email the girls. We are all in agreement that shit just got weird. Really weird.]
Because I have no idea what to say I finally respond: Did I offend you? I’m confused.
WC: No! I’m joking! I sometimes feel like a male hooker when I tutor—like you…you’re a hot housewife…I come in and you pass me cash…we have our talk…
WC: I move on to the next…I feel like a “high priced call girl” at times. My guy friends are envious of my job.
[If that shit doesn’t have you going wtf….]
WC: Just a joke! Like asking “what’s your genre?”
WC: Some of these ladies are into erotica so then I guess I dress like a fireman or something for them…and I read their “stories”. What a job!
OK, let this “hot” housewife get this off my back. I’m gonna get ghetto here, so imagine me saying this in my black girl voice.
Who in the fuck do you think you are calling me 1. A “hot” housewife like that’s all I am, not that there’s anything wrong with that, but I am a full time office manager.
2. I did not write a “story” – I wrote a fucking novel and this fucking novel is going to sell and get turned into a Lifetime movie complete with Rob Lowe playing the antagonist and a “hot” housewife – Katie Holmes anyone? – playing me.
3. I am not sitting in a basement writing some make-believe erotica story because I am some bored housewife looking for attention and desperately craving sex. Further, please repeat #2, I did not write some little fucking story…I wrote a book mother fucker. This book is going to be a best seller. Fucking Oprah is going to be talking about this shit.
4. Dressing up in Batman, fireman costumes and reading these stories, what the fuck are you talking about? This is the craziest shit I’ve ever heard! I’m beyond confused right now and
a little a lot offended.
5. This is serious shit to me. I did not hire you because I was looking for anything other than help with my writing. I never in any way suggested otherwise.
6. Maybe this is a game…to him and his mom….maybe they scour Craig’s List looking for attractive young girls to take advantage of! They wanted to lure me to their home and kill me, Oh my God! Like the Bates Motel!
7. I’ve never felt so demeaned in my whole life….I finally say as I break down in tears.
No more ghetto, I’m actually crying and saying how serious I am about my book, and now I will never know if he even really liked my book or if the whole time he was just trying to get in my pants dressed up as fucking Elmo or some shit.
I traded a few texts with WC after, but knew I could never trust him again. I’ve not searched for another writing coach, and I’ve not worked on my book after that. I know I need to get back to it and not be dramatic and feel sorry for myself, but the whole experience just left me with a bad taste in my mouth. Like who the fuck does this happen to, I don’t even get it?
My friends and I did have a laugh about it while sipping cocktails as my girl said, “When don’t you have drama? That’s crazy!”