Transplanted Life
Saturday, July 26, 2003
Well, those two baseball games didn't go as planned, huh? Would have thought for sure that the Sox would win the Pedro game and lose the Burkett one. Go figure.

I got sick of being cooped up in this apartment today, so I went for a walk. But first, I had to shave Michelle's legs again, I mean for the third time this week. I don't remember Mags or any other girl I know having to do it so often, but then again, I didn't ask them. I don't know whether this means girls shave their legs more often than I thought or just that Michelle has really hairy legs. It wouldn't be so bad from an aesthetic standpoint, except that you can really tell from the stubble that she's not a natural blonde. I'd be half-tempted to just say screw it, but it does itch when you walk.
Friday, July 25, 2003
For the first time in a week, I'm actually feeling good. Pedro is pitching against the Yankees, I've got a bowl of Breyer's Vanilla Bean Ice Cream, and I actually had a good time last night. Janet apparently told a couple of the girls at work about "Michelle's boyfriend", so they talked me into a "girls' night out". We had a couple drinks, went to a movie, and then stopped at this place in Harvard Square called "Finale" that just serves dessert. Good stuff.

(Ahhh... Soriano strikes out, because that's what he does)

Anyway, Kate and Jen are nice folks. Initially, I think they thought Michelle would be a pain and a bore, just being a secretary from North Nowhere New Hampshire. I considered playing into that, but I'd had a couple of drinks, so when I blurted out that I'd been wondering when Garage Days would play here, what with it being Alex Proyas's new movie, I sort of blew my cover there. But, hey, with NetFlix and the internet, anyone can be up on movies and stuff. Besides, for all I know, Michelle's really into it.

And if she's not, well, she can explain that when we switch back.

(Yeah, let's see Derek "The Statue" Jeter do that!)

The cheesecake afterward was fantastic, too. I think my eyes were a little bigger than my belly there, though - I'm still not used to being smaller and more easily filled up. Jen joked about having to make the next girls' night out be at the gym the way I put it away. I've gotta say, I wouldn't mind seeing either of them in their workout clothes. Kate's in accounting, one of those impish-looking brunettes that looks hot in glasses, and Jen's got the look of someone who spends a lot of time in the gym - slender and strong; I hear she played Division III basketball in college. She does web stuff at BioSoft.

Anyway, we had fun, and we went out for lunch today, too. Having friends makes the situation a little better, I think.
Thursday, July 24, 2003
Man, am I glad that has been slow of late... Beats watching the Sox get their butt kicked by the Tampa Bay freaking Devil Rays via GameCast in real time. Knowing that the Yankees are losing as well doesn't really make it any better; just a brutal, brutal game.

One of the women here at the office heard me crying in the bathroom last night, which is mortifying. Janet was awfully nice about it, and under other circumstances, she'd be the type of person I'd like to talk to. There always seems to be one person at any tech company who looks out of place because she's got grey hair and grandkids; that's Janet here. She's old enough to be the mother of everyone else at the company, but she does good SQL work, evidently. If the letter hadn't said "don't tell anyone", I'd probably have spilled the whole deal to her, despite it sounding insane. Instead, I told her that Michelle's old boyfriend had gotten engaged. She seemed to buy it, told me I'd meet someone else, all that stuff.

It does make me wonder about Michelle's past. I just made that old boyfriend up, of course, but the fact is, I don't know anything about her. The lease on her apartment started at the start of July, and she apparently just started working at BioSoft on the 7th. The information on her New Hampshire driver's license says she was born November 3rd, 1978, and the address listed is in a town somewhere in the northern part of the state; feeding it into MapQuest didn't tell me much of anything. There's a listing for "Michelle Garber" there, but when I tried to call it, the number was disconnected. Ditto for the other Garber listed there. Michelle doesn't have any sort of address book on her computer or a paper one. She must have friends or family somewhere, but I can't find any of them.

On the one hand, that's good, in that I won't have to fool anyone or really worry about getting caught. But - and I don't really want to think about this - it also means that she doesn't have very much to tie her here except her body. To me, that seems huge, but she let it go, so who knows how long until she decides she wants it back?

Wednesday, July 23, 2003
Well, still in Michelle's body. Still no contact with her in my own body. I'm starting to think this may last a while.

The worst thing is, I don't know if what I did today meant I made any progress toward getting my own body back. I don't know whether I've got any control over it at all, but I have to figure there's something I can do; otherwise I don't know how I can go on. So I decided to go and meet Kurt.

Not to tell him the truth, of course - the letter was very specific on that point. But, it did imply that I should "be together" with Kurt, also implying I'd be in some sort of trouble if I didn't. Wonderfully specific, that letter was, but it at least gave me some sort of directions to follow.

Everyone at BioSoft who actually noticed the secretary seemed to make some comment on my seeming nervous. I made some excuse about a blind date, which I guess wasn't wholly a lie. By the end of the day, though, I was jumping at every sound. Before leaving, I actually went into the ladies' room and started crying while sitting on the toilet. After all, I've only been in this body four days - even if it helps me get out of it, that's awful quick to get into the whole boy-girl thing, even if you're just pretending. And I feel ashamed of the crying, to the point where I almost didn't even type this. Sure, it may be some crazy cycle-oriented thing, but that just makes it worse - that's this body influencing how I behave, and I can't say I approve of that at all.

I guess that's what finally got me up out of the stall and putting a little make-up on Michelle's face - if this is what I'm going to have to do, it's what I have to do, and no hormonal crap is going to stop me. I probably overdid it, but I tried to use as little as possible. I fiddled with the clothes a little - a real girl would have known what message having the fifth button on the cardigan buttoned as opposed to the eighth sent; I just figured anything higher than the fifth looked sort of dorky. So, once I looked presentable, I headed out to The Place.

The Place isn't the only bar Kurt goes to, but it's fairly near his job and has a good-sized screen for sports. Heck, one of the NESN Red Sox postgame shows is even shot there. In fact, the crew was just starting to get in as I paid my tab, figuring Kurt wouldn't be there tonight.

Just as I was leaving, though, he was coming in. I almost hugged him (though it would have been a manly, clutching-on-to-something-familiar hug), but figured that would be suspicious. Instead, I waited until he got to the bar and sat down.

He smiled, recognized Michelle, then got this awkward look on his face. Which was good, becuase it meant we were in, if not the same boat, the same type of boat. I don't know exactly what I said to him, something about having been rude on Friday and wanting to make a better first impression. I wrote Michelle's name and number down and gave it to him. I said something really stupid when he tried to buy me a drink, something about how he couldn't buy me a drink so soon after I'd apologized because even if the apology and number made us even, accepting something would make us not even too soon after being even... Completely nonsensical. I practically ran out the door afterward.

So now, I'm sitting here watching the phone. It's out of my hands again.

Tuesday, July 22, 2003
And just when I think my life can't get any worse, it rains. Not for long, but hard, and right during the time I'm going to Michelle's work. I'm almost at her job when my umbrella somehow gets tangled up in someone elses and ripped out of my hands. Of course, when I bend over to pick it up, some guys walking by opt to whistle at Michelle's ass.

It's embarrassing, but I'm not mad at them. I mean, Michelle's got a great ass; I'd whistle. Not that I feel any pride in it or anything, either. I probably just looked angry because I'm somewhere I don't want to be dealing with frustrating crap and irrationally thinking that if not for Michelle, this wouldn't have happened (because, you know, it never rains in Seattle and I've never dropped something before). I tell myself that, to just deal with it the same way I would if I were still in my own body.

Of course, that's before someone bumps into me/Michelle and I fall flat on her face because her breasts are big enough to throw off my balance.

Fortunately, I'm at the office failry early and there's some time to wash up. Still, it's a good thing I did get around to shaving Michelle's legs last night because there's a big run in the pantyhose; the cardigan also needs to dry out. BioSoft's receptionist doesn't look terribly professional today. If this had happened to Michelle, I suppose she might feel embarrassed, but what the hell do I care if people think she looks like a disheveled slob? It's not my reputation, and if she were worried about hers, she would have shown more care in choosing who she has live her life. I do feel the need to apologize to Frank Towne (the boss) when he arrives, though - it's not his fault someone replaced his employee with... well, me.

I would really like to know whether Dimitri is always trying to hit on Michelle every time he walks past or whether it's just today, for reference, though. I think by not cutting him down nastily at 9am, I may have brought it on myself - considering how harsh she was to Kurt on Friday, I can't imagine what she says to this overweight Lithuanian dude.

Monday, July 21, 2003
I just threatened to "keep putting meat in" Michelle's body, didn't I?

Yikes. No, dear god, no. Not happening. Gads!

Good thing I was talking about shaving, because I suddenly feel the need to bathe...
Yep, Michelle was definitely a vegetarian. That burger I had for lunch is just not sitting well. I guess the best thing to do is take it slow, maybe just eating meat once a day and having salad for lunch for now. (You here me, Michelle? I'm going to keep putting meat into your body, and the only way you can stop me is to switch us back!)

Anyway, it made me consider how much we're really ignorant of how our bodies work. They send all sorts of weird signals, and then when something gets messed up, we have to consult with people who've had massive amounts of education in order to understand it (and many of them are highly specialized). And then, each individual body is different. The upshot is, I put another call into my cell phone, even though I don't expect Michelle to answer it, warning her that I'm allergic to aspirin. There's an angry, vindictive part of me that wants her to find out the same way I did, but I still expect my body back someday, and would rather no damage were done to it.

And that's not even counting grooming. Folks at the office were looking at me - well, Michelle - askance, I guess because she usually wears make-up or something. I don't know if I'll be trying that, but it's time to see if she's got an electric razor for her legs or something. This is starting to get itchy.
It's ironic that a month ago I would have killed for a job here at BioSoft. It's a cool, twenty-odd person software company with some big contracts doing cool work in database applications that support scientific research. Now, I'm here, but I'm the receptionist. Michelle's job is apparently to wear a headset, direct phone calls, sign when UPS makes a delivery, and look pretty. It's mind-numbingly boring. I've only been here for three hours and I've already dusted off everything in the front area. What people in jobs like this did before the internet, I don't know.

She's got a head start on the "looking pretty" thing, though. I finally got the nerve to take a shower this morning, and I was right about what I drunkenly wrote Friday night - this girl is hot, with a thin waist, nice firm breasts, long legs, a pretty much perfect complection, green eyes and a neat wave in her hair (although the dark roots are showing). The only flaw is a little bit of leg stubble, but after spending half an hour blow-drying her hair this morning, I didn't have the time or the energy to do anything about that. I guess Michelle predicted that, because the outfit she'd laid out for today before doing the switch included black pantyhose. Only one outfit laid out, though - I'm hoping that means Michelle's little joke has an expiration date.

I seriously considered calling in sick this morning - not only did I figure that the "cheat sheet" Michelle had attached to her letter wouldn't be enough help, but I really did feel lousy. Not just "I'm in someone else's body", but queasy, if not quite sick to Michelle's stomach. I wouldn't be at all surprised if she was a vegetarian and the meat-lover's microwave pizza I ate last night was something her body's not used to. But, I kind of suspect that someone who can magically switch bodies would have some way of keeping tabs on me.

No word from Michelle yet, even though there's no excuse for her not being able to see the messages I've left on my cell phone's voice mail by now. Apparently she's not going to contact me. This is, of course, ridiculous, but what can I do? Nothing I've found on-line seems to be of much help, and I don't even know what to search for. I've found a bunch of links to fiction, but that does me no good.

And here's a scenario none of those fiction writers ever seem to come up with: You get plopped into another person's body, but they've left no food in the house. Either Michelle eats out every night, or she knew that she wouldn't be here and didn't see any need to have anything in the cupboard. So, around five o'clock tonight, I'm starving and don't feel like touching the tofu stuff in the fridge, and thus opt to hit the supermarket.

Quite frankly, her wardrobe scares the hell out of me, so I just put on a new pair of panties and some sweats. I don't know how long women generally wear a bra, but I've had this one on since I woke up yesterday (or perhaps Saturday isn't yesterday, by the time I post this), but I didn't feel like fiddling with it. Anyway, once I'm outside, I reaize I'm not downtown any more, and walk to the Trader Joe's in Cambridge. But, of course, it takes longer than I expected and this area was founded by Puritans and thus nothing is open for very long on Sunday. So I hike further to get to the Star Market near MIT. I do some shopping, only getting a few nasty looks because of my BO (I admit it, I've been too freaked to shower), and I'm off again.

But here's the funny thing: Michelle's ID is out of date! She just moved from New Hampshire recently, I guess, nothing in her wallet has her address on it, and I wasn't smart enough to write down where she lived when I left the building. I don't even remember which part of the Green Line I passed on the way to the store! So I walk all the way back to the general part of Allston where she lived, sweating like a racehorse, and look at buildings trying to guess which one is vaguely familiar. The people in the neighborhood must have thought I was some kind of nut, trying keys in four buildings before finding the right one. Then, I at least remembered being on the third floor, but not which number. I must have spent half an hour apologizing to that family that didn't lock their door.

The upshot is, I'm dead tired, the ice cream melted all over everything before I got near Michelle's freezer, and I've just spend two hours on the internet finding nothing useful. And, guess what, I have to go to her job tomorrow. One thoroughly lousy day.


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Note: This blog is a work of fantasy; all characters are either ficticious or used ficticiously. The author may be contacted at