Marin [9:42am]: I don’t think you should say that.
Bea [9:43am]: I hate my life
Marin [9:43am]: Stay right there. I’m coming over.
FOOD2YOU DELIVERY RECEIPT:
ACCOUNT HOLDER—BEATRICE SCHUMACHER
DELIVER TO:
Beatrice Schumacher
1841 Avalon Way
Los Angeles, CA 90026
Stouffer’s frozen meals: Macaroni and cheese (25 units)
LaCroix Sparkling Water (Pamplemousse flavor) (6 cases)
Doritos Corn Chips (Cooler Ranch flavor) (10 bags)
Doritos Corn Chips (Nacho Cheesier flavor) (10 bags)
Skinny Cow Ice Cream Sandwiches (original flavor) (6 boxes)
JIF Extra Creamy Peanut Butter (5 jars)
Original Saltine Crackers (5 boxes)
Diet Coke (12 cases)
Z-quil Sleep Aid Medication (2 boxes)
Cottonelle Rippled Toilet Paper (18-roll pack)
NOTE:
Do not ring bell. Client waives signature requirement. Leave groceries at front door.
TEXT MESSAGE TRANSCRIPT, AUGUST 25:
BEA SCHUMACHER & MARIN MENDOZA
Marin [2:28pm]: Hey, have you left yet? Sharon made this white peach sangria and it’s VERY GOOD you should def get a car instead of driving
Bea [2:30pm]: I think I might just stay home? I’m so behind on work stuff
Marin [2:31pm]: Bea, NO! You didn’t come to Sneha’s thing yesterday either, she was pissed!! Did you go on your date last night?
Bea [2:35pm]: I couldn’t
Marin [2:36pm]: Okay
Marin [2:37pm]: But babe, you’re not going to get over him if you never meet anyone new
Bea [2:38pm]: I know. I’m just not ready.
Marin [2:38pm]: I wish you’d come to Sharon’s. We’d all really love to see you.
TEXT MESSAGE TRANSCRIPT, AUGUST 25:
BEA SCHUMACHER & RAY MORETTI
Bea [7:48pm]: So are you really never going to respond to any of my emails? Not one of them?
Bea [7:48pm]: I’m not trying to ruin your life. I just want to talk.
Bea [7:49pm]: I hate this, Ray. I miss you.
SELECTED MESSAGES FROM THE TINDER MESSAGE FOLDER
OF BEA SCHUMACHER
Jim: Yo!!!!!!!!!!!
Bea: Hey there:)
Jim: GIVE. ME. THOSE. CURVES.
Bea: I…what?
Jim: GIMME EM BEA GIMME THOSE CURVES
***user unmatched and blocked***
Todd: sup b
Bea: nm, T. how are you?
Todd: can I come over
Todd: address?
Bea: do you think we maybe skipped a couple of steps there?
Todd: wut
Bea: Hey, Alex! Love that Paris pic. My fav city. :)
Alex: Sorry, I don’t think this is going to work.
Bea: Excuse me?
Alex: You need to show your body in your top photo. A headshot is dishonest.
Kip: Hello, Bea. How’s your week going?
Bea: Hi, Kip! It’s pretty average, a little work, a nice hike now that it’s actually starting to feel like fall.
Bea: (Oh god, am I the boring girl who talks about the weather? Sigh.)
Bea: How’s your week?
Kip: Ha! As residents of Los Angeles, I think we’re legally obligated to mark the seasonal transition from high of 84 to high of 78.
Kip: My week’s alright. Would you like to meet for a drink?
Bea: Sure, I could do that. Thursday?
BLOG POST FROM OMBEA.COM
7,849 Reblogs • 22,378 Likes
Hey OMBeauties! Okay, I need to level with you: I’m smiling in this photo, but I’m not feeling great right now. I went on a Tinder date tonight—my first date in a while, in fact. As you can see, I wore my patented First Date Uniform: faded black skinny jeans and a form-fitting V-neck top from Universal Standard that miraculously flatter curves on every body, Stuart Weitzman ankle boots fabricated in the Technicolor floral tapestry of my fantasies, and bright-green statement earrings I found at a street market in Barcelona last summer. I wear nearly this exact outfit on every first date (future suitors, be forewarned!), because I find that when you’re stressed and anxious about meeting someone new, having a go-to look that makes you feel comfortable yet confident, laid-back yet sexy, can alleviate some of the nerves.
And beauties, I did feel great tonight—until I walked into the bar my date had chosen.
Usually, when I go out with dates or friends, I’m the plan-maker. I pick the restaurant or bar so I can make sure it has comfortable seating (seriously, can we ban bolted-down booths forever?); I order the car and pay the surcharge for a sedan or SUV so I won’t feel cramped and claustrophobic in the back seat of an itsy-bitsy hatchback.
But tonight, my date was pumped to try a chic new cocktail bar in our neighborhood: a crowded haunt with cozy little high-top tables for two sprinkled throughout the narrow space. The entire time I was there, I felt like a pariah mumbling, “Sorry, excuse me,” to every person I inevitably bumped into, praying I wouldn’t accidentally cause even a drop of drink spillage, feeling like no matter where I stood, I was always in someone’s way.
Going on a first date can be scary for anyone, but I find that for me, natural insecurities can spiral into an echo chamber of all the horrible things society has ever implied (or outright declared!) about my fatness. Even though my date tonight didn’t say or do anything to make me feel unattractive, being in that bar surrounded by thin people (ah, Los Angeles), it was perilously easy to backslide into this ubiquitous idea that I’d be so much happier if only I looked like them. As though if I could make my body fit on one of those tiny barstools, I’d be in a perfect, fulfilling relationship instead of forcing myself to get through this date, wishing I could just disappear.