Amy's Contact Report Spring 1995.

I'm still at The Zimmerman Agency, still in Tallahassee, still working on the North Broward Hospital District account, and still hoping for a permanent hair removal system that really works. Although things sound pretty much the same, the job has been going quite well. I'm now handling the NBHD account myself, reporting directly to the vice president. As wonderful as it was getting a promotion after only six months, I have since found a major downside. To get it, I had to work harder than spandex at an Overeater's Anonymous meeting. Now, that kind of workaholic behavior is expected. Great. What am I going to do for my next promotion--offer my first born?

WORK RELATED TRAVEL.

We recently got to shoot a TV spot for my client in Ft. Lauderdale. I always thought that sounded so exciting--"shoot a TV spot." In reality, it's schlepping around from 6 am till 10 pm trying keep your clients engaged in small talk so they don't annoy the film crew. I used up all my witty repartee in the first five minutes. So I began racking my brain for entertaining jokes and funny stories appropriate in mixed company. How was I supposed to know one of them was dating a transvestite nun with a hairlip? Some people just don't have a sense of humor. On the bright side, one of the patients in Urology offered me a gig me at The Improv. Fortunately, I quickly learned two words that made the whole television experience more tolerable--'craft services.' Roughly translated, it's a food table that follows you wherever you go, stocked like Rosanne's pantry--Double Stuff Oreo's, Twinkies, Cheez Whiz, Pop Tarts, granola bars, Cheese Doodles... The resulting processed-white-flour-and-sugar buzz makes the client much easier to deal with.

FILM CREW.

The director was Henry Corra, a well-known documentary film maker and former protégé of Albert Maysles. (If this means nothing to you, just be impressed.) Believe it or not, he actually did go around yelling things like "work with me here," and "that's a wrap." And since we used hospital staff instead of professional actors, he mostly yelled "quit waving at the camera." The producer, Robert Katz, does a lot of work for VH-1. He even got Rosie O'Donnell to do our voice-over! (You can't prove she didn't.) Look for us on cable networks throughout Broward County.

NEWS.

I don't think Emily Post would approve, but consider this is the formal announce of my engagement. It's true. Peter C. (don't ask) Crosby--copywriter, art director, whatever--was finally manipulated into... I mean, decided to ask me to marry him. On a plane to Rochester for Christmas, he handed me a box which read, 'Since you're spending the holidays with my family in the frigid north, I wanted to give you something to make you more comfortable. "Inside was a small, velvet box and the words "My last name. Amy, will you marry me?" It came as such a surprise, I didn't know what to do. After whipping out my gem loupe and grading the stone (I knew Earth Science 101 would pay off), I began to think. How do you make a decision about something that will effect the rest of your life? Fortunately, Peter was hyperventilating into an airsick bag by now, so it bought me some time. I decided to throw caution to the wind and do what I thought was right at that moment. So I grabbed the nearest stewardess' left hand. If my diamond was bigger than hers, I'd say yes. Otherwise, I'd hold out for someone more in touch with my needs. Lucky for Peter, I said yes, right before he passed out. For the rest of the flight, I told him about the wedding I had always dreamed of--a soprano soloist singing 'You Light Up My Life'; the soles of his shoes painted with help me; a dozen bridesmaids in chartreuse taffeta with matching shoes; the chicken dance and the Hokey-pokey; a honeymoon in the Poconos; blah, blah, blah. He just curled up into a fetal position, cried softly, and mumbled something about never drinking tequila again.

NEXT STEP.

So in my spare time I've been planning what supposedly will be the happiest day of my life. But, since it's not likely I'll win the lottery anytime soon, I figured I better start thinking about the wedding. After calling a few bridal shops and caterers, I'm leaning toward Pete's idea of 50 people for pigs-in-a-blanket and a keg of Bud. By choosing a cheaper, er...more intimate affair, I get to keep my car and possibly the ability to make non-necessary clothing purchases before 1997. Like every newly engaged woman, I've been practicing writing my much-anticipated new name. The Ex-Mrs. Peter Crosby.