Dale Pitches My Life

We’re back with episode two of Passions: Dale Questions Beth.

If the story of your life were to be filmed and you had a hand in picking the title of the film and the actor who would be playing you, what would your choices be?

Interesting question, Dale, one I’ve never been asked. I tossed and turned all night, trying to name my life in five words or less and mentally auditioning a wide range of actresses.

The Pitch: Funny, semi-ditzy, adventurous fortysomething woman chooses the single life over marriage, giving her the freedom to obsess over music, concerts, books, travel, friends … and men.

Yeah, that’s gonna draw a huge box office. Maybe I need to start dating a young wizard.

The movie title: Sex and the Southern City. My life could be an interesting spin on the iconic HBO series. There are similarities. Carrie wrote a column; I write a blog (and I write for a living). We’ve both had our share of “interesting” dating debacles. Our friends are our greatest loves. Move it up a decade and down nine hundred miles, and you have my life. Ah, the absurdities that will be captured on celluloid! The Zevon kiss. The weirdos and the wows. The R.E.M. soundtrack.

Who will play my Carrie Bradshaw-esque self, you ask? I’m tapping Julia Louis-Dreyfus. She’d nail the funny and obsessive, and she's comfortable around male buddies. Plus, my dad loved her.

If we were closer in age, I would pick Diane Keaton. I love her naturally screwball, fun self, her obvious lust for life, her laugh, living life her way without giving a damn what others think. And her style! I’m always mesmerized by her wardrobe. I just watched the don’t-waste-your-time Because I Said So simply to check out her wardrobe; I’m still drooling over those ropes and ropes of pearls.

Fingers crossed that Richard Curtis will direct.

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Brush with Greatness: Prince Albert II of Monaco

Since Prince Albert and his dalliances are in the press again, I thought I’d share my moment in the royal sun.

I worked for the Atlanta Committee for the Olympic Games from 1991 to 1993. A couple of times a year, members of the International Olympic Committee came to town to check our progress and to hold board meetings. Prince Albert, an active IOC member, was finally coming to Atlanta for the winter meeting. The ACOG girls were going crazy, each hoping she’d be spotted and whisked away to the castle, just like Grace Kelley. My cubicle was near the door separating the reception area from the office area, so all the blondes were hanging out at my desk, hoping to “stumble” upon the prince. Albert was around, but he pretty much ignored them.

The giggling and loitering were driving me nuts, so I slipped away and went down the back hall to the powder room. And I ran into the prince and his entourage. Knowing that he had avoided fraternizing with the chicks, I gave him a brief smile and kept going. But he stopped me, introduced himself, and asked how I was. I was thrilled! The brunette trumped the blondes with one of the most eligible bachelors in the world!

After our short yet meaningful exchange, I went to the powder room, stopping in front of the mirror to gaze upon the visage that caught a prince's eye. And then I saw why the prince chose me for a chat — I had a frickin’ hot chocolate moustache across my upper lip, from corner to corner. I then realized I probably got Prince Albert’s attention because he was charmed by the “mentally challenged” chick working for the committee.

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Sex & the Southern City: Barista Boy

From time to time (read: when I have nothing to write about), I’ll share highlights from my life as a single woman. These posts will no doubt be great lessons for those of you just starting the single life. And, yes, these stories are true.

Karen and I have just finished a dinner of sushi and (many) saki martinis … which, of course, leads to ribald conversation and naughty confessions. There are still secrets waiting to be spilled postprandial, so we walk to a nearby coffee shop. A tall, very cute barista waits behind the counter. Fueled by my martini confidence, I order my latte with a flirt and a hair toss. Barista Boy repeats my order.

Me: “That’s a cute accent you have. Where are you from?”

Barista Boy: “I don’t have an accent. I have a speech impediment.”

Single girl scores again!

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