May 21, 2008

I Heart Collating and Other Special Functions

I tend to be a romantic.

Recent experiences have sullied my innocent outlook and have caused me to look at the dating world through the eyes of the experienced dater that I am, rather than the 14 year old school girl that I seem to relish being when I like someone. But things happen that make you become cynical or jaded. I am not a jaded person. But I am learning how to control my impulsiveness with a little more caution.

And with all the dating that I have done in the past few years (count em...40 different guys), I prepare for dating like I do for anything where I have the potential to look like a fool if not well equipped. I put my best face on, I look cute, I smell great and I usually am not wearing sneakers.

Due to our recent office move, we acquired all new printers and copiers. I tend to be the one in our department who uses them the most so I have been learning via trial and error how the new machines work. When I was asked if I wanted to be part of a training meeting, I pondered how I love having the knowledge to battle these tricky, slick macines but did I really want to be the go-to person in our department for all the various functions and how they work. I am all for helping people, but there are some people in our department I like better than others and Murphy's Law would have it be that the ones I don't like (read: the needier ones) would be the squeaky wheels.
I put the training meeting on my calendar. Knowledge and curiosity won out.

A minute before the meeting started, someone had to remind me about it.
I grabbed a pen and a pad and ran down the corridor to meet the other like minded individuals with the same crappy job descriptions of "copying" that I have.

There was a guy from IT and a guy from the Big-Name-Copier-Company (BNCC).
As soon as I turned the corner I saw the BNCC rep standing there. He was 6'6, all American football player build, slightly blondish with blue eyes that were shpaped like little happy crescents.

My type of guy is usually dark, and artistic.
And I tend not to notice height on a man even though I am considered tall.
I am the shortest in the family (at 5'0) and due to my choices of men who were 5'7 and shorter, I would hear my mom's plaintiff cries, "You're going to birth a midget...I just know it!"

No need for my mom to worry since I am not planning on having kids. I have dated tall guys and short guys and like I said, height has never ever played a role in attraction for me.

But I could barely breathe. Something hit me hard. I felt my face flush as I looked at this mountain of a man who could easily hold me. I imagined lying in bed with him and how secure I would feel. I dreamily gazed at him as he talked about collating and the other functions of the printer/copier. He looked back at me - probably surprised to see such an eager face at his training session. I asked several questions (they were appropriate to the training) and felt myself nodding like one of those dashboard chihuahuas everytime he spoke. He wasn't saying anything that required nodding, I just felt it was the only thing I could do in lieu of jumping on him and screaming "Catch Me Mr. Tall Training Man Lover!"

I tried to pull myself together and show my funny side like I normally would in the work place. He was preparing to show us how the machine responds to a paper jam. He was folding a piece of paper up and I blurted out, "I am having an anxiety attack because usually the machine jams on me when I am in a rush and just knowing you are PURPOSELY going to jam it is giving me 'Nam flashbacks".
My voice on "flashbacks" trailed off as I turned around and noticed that 80% of the people around me were Asian. Of course my voice saying "Nam" was perfectly loud.
I kept babbling and somehow recovered from the slight racist-sounding misstep.

Then, he proceeded with the training and jammed the machine.
A jam so fierce, however, that the machine was inoperable. We all gathered closer to help him find the paper. This wasn't part of the training anymore. He could have gotten embarrassed, but he handled it with such charm. Plus, it allowed me to get closer to him. The chemistry was undeniable; even if it was one sided.

I was in work mode but trying to operate in dating mode. My hair was lousy, my outfit was sloppy and my make-up and been worn off some time between the elevator ride up to my office and trying to hunt for the last low fat cottage cheese left in the building. And still, I was giving him eyes that probably look best in candle light...not flourescents. Maybe it was the roar of the copy machine that was igniting the roar of my blood to my skin. I was flushed and could still feel my heart beating fast.

That is when I got close enough to see the chastity belt...a band around his left ring finger! My heart sank. But the message didn't make it to my imagination. Now he seemed even MORE attractive.

Around the same time that a rush of "shushes" came from neighboring cubicles for us to keep the din from the training down, Mr. Trainer found the pesky paper. I thought it would come out like crumpled oragami but it came out exactly as he had put it in. No tears or rips.
Unlike my heart, I thought, if I were to spend any more time mooning over this married man.

The training was over. I walked away and whispered to my co-worker, "I am sooooo attracted to that man, but he is married." I said.
"How do you know?"
"Well, the ring is a pretty good indicator", I said
"Not necessarily. Men wear rings on their left ring finger for various reasons."
I stopped walking looked at her. "Yeah, like when they are married."
"Or when they want to just keep the women at bay"
"Which doesn't really help me either now does it?"
"If he asked you out would you go?"
"If he wasn't married, absolutely."
"He's not even your type."
"I know. That is why this floored me."

My co-workers, after a bout of teasing me to see how red I could get, called the IT guy to see if they could find out if the Training guy is indeed married.

I almost died.

"If he asks who wants to know, I will just tell him that I do" my co-worker said leaving a message for the IT guy to call her back. "You have to pursue this because you don't get like this very often." she said.

That was very true. Last time I was hit like that was with Ghost.
And that was several years ago. And we met under non-dating circumstances too.

Maybe that is why it hits me. Because I don't see it coming.

Which kind of curbs the cynicism in me.
And brings me back to thinking like a 14 year old girl, which I had just recently given up.

It doesn't really matter in the grand scheme of things. Nothing happened with Ghost in the end and probably nothing will come of this. But it was nice to know that for all my dating war wounds, I can still be surprised.

Since the training, whenever I use that copier, I feel a little connection.
And it makes me blush.

The 39 year old inside of me tries to handle the red cheeks with grace and professionalism.
And the 14 year old girl inside me giggles.

Posted by Kirsten at 11:56 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

May 18, 2008

where the streets have no

With all the hub-bub going on at night outside my apartment building, you would think I would be a cranky girl from all the sleep deprivation.
But I am not.

Wed night around 2am, a truck filled with items the driver obviously found on the street seemed to be picking up stuff that had fallen off the truck. His cars hazarads were on leaving the otherwise calm street with a strange glow of a police car or a movie set. Sounds at that hour also seem to echo with a ghostly noise. After trying to figure out what the man was doing in my sleep stupor, I sort of flopped back down from my window back into my pillow.

Thursday night, same truck, same guy but now two characters were added to the mix. A man who owned a mercedes was coming to help the junk truck move for street sweeping. Then a third man came along in another car and parked across the street and helped them. They used the mercedes to physically move the junk truck and in the process, blocked a side street for a good half hour. How would I know? Because I kept hearing noises with every attempt to just drift off back to sleep and I would go back to the window like I thought I would see something different. I didn't. Street still blocked. Same three men, and I still had no idea what exactly they were doing and how they all related.

Last night, after spending dinner at Gamby's and chatting and catching up, I finally got to bed around 2am. I noticed the streets were calm. Ah. I saw junk truck parked safely and with no people driving it. I fell asleep with the idea that I would be able to get a few good hours of sleep in before I woke up to head out to Venice to see leigh. She has a baby so we work around the baby's nap. Which is so unusual to my world where I work my weekends around my naps. That is, if I took naps, which I always intend to but always contemplate Monday mornings and vow that "next weekend" will be the one where I take part in the napping world.
But I digress.
This morning around 3am, there were some boys who decided that my street would be the best place to play soccer. But instead of a ball, they used a can/plastic bottle/nails on a chalkboard/soemthing loud kick. And whenever a car would come, they would scream "CAR!" and move but it was hard to distinguish that from when they screamed "GOAL!"

I couldn't believe it. I actually couldn' believe that no one had called the cops. I would have but I was still in a sleep stupor incredulous that this was happening. Someone from a neighboring open window feebly yelled, "Shut up" and they yelled and laughed "Fuck you!" back.
Ah, touche! Brilliant reparte.

I looked at my cat and she looked back at me. Without either of us uttering a noise, we said volumes. Well, not volumes; a sentence maybe. "Can you believe this shit?" that sentence.

I think the cops came and told them to take it to a field but I can't be too sure. Only thing I know is that they soon left.

I have weird dreams all the time and I remember them. I used to think it was because I am a brilliant creative mind. But now I think it is because there is so much activity going on around me that my dreams weave that shit in there.

So not only am I not a brilliant creative mind, but I am sleep deprived.

Maybe I am a cranky girl after all.

Maybe I will try that napping thing today. *sigh* *yawn* *sigh*

Posted by Kirsten at 08:27 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

May 05, 2008

I am back

Whoa - almost a month with no entry. That just ain't right.
Lots has happened:
Rebecca's surprise birthday bowling/karaoke party
Marnie's birthday karaoke party
office move
re-entry into the diet realm
re-entry into belly dancing
re-entry into dating realm
cleaned out closets and took an entire suitcase to goodwill
went to the Americana mall (vegas +disneyland+ the grove)
brunched it, lunched it and dinnered it with my favorite friends
procrastinated writing for the next Pinata which is a month away...yikes!

A real blog post to come soon.

In the mean time, ponder this...I have always thought (and told my folks) that they didn't know how to raise me because I am an older child and they were both younger children. They write me off as narcissistic...whatever....
But today, on MSN, there is an article about older kids having it harder.
Not sure if the entire article rings true for me but still...I stand by my theory.

Pity me...I had it rough. family is laughing hysterically at that thought.

Posted by Kirsten at 09:40 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack