Recall: Excitement
Over the SK. Because it is now almost 4pm on Friday and the "later in the week phone call to make plans" has not happened. I have now convinced 85% of myself that this call will not actually come. 15% remains wildy optimistic, mainly because a good friend reminded me that working for a super scary government agency such as the SK's employer can result in days cut off from the rest of society. So, that small part of myself remains hopeful that he will soon emerge from the grips of his super scary employer and pick up the phone.
Because really? Why make the beginning of the week phone call if one is not planning on making the aforementioned follow up phone call? The beginning of the week phone call served to remind me that he is still interested but has a lot going on right now. And this is where the 15% pipes in with all her hopefulness to say that it is not too late for that call to come and that it could still happen. And if it does happen, the remaining 85% shoots back in all her sarcastic glory, all 100% of us should be out somewhere, looking hot, and having a fantastic evening.
Update, as requested
As requested by Mrs. DW, this is to let all interested parties know that my second date with the SK on Friday night went well. Extremely well.
But, then I spent the rest of the weekend freaking out about the whole thing.
Because I hate this beginning stage of dating. Yes, it is fun and exciting and all those of you who have been coupled off for awhile miss the novelty associated with the first few dates.
But remember when you were in that beginning stage? When you were the one wondering if he would call? If you said something stupid? If he noticed that you just spit out a tiny piece of your fish while talking?
These worries plagued all day on Sunday when I didn’t hear from him. I tried to reassure myself that the date had gone well, that my anxieties were all in my head, and that I would eventually hear from him. That he was probably working as he had warned me was the extent of his plan for the rest of the weekend.
And I did hear from him. Last night. He had worked 12 hour days on Saturday and Sunday and logged another 13 hours on Monday. He said he couldn’t plan anything right now because the week was so up in the air. And as I sit here, still at work, suffering through the heat and plowing through a trial transcript, with no plans to leave anytime soon, I understand the inability to make plans.
So, I again reassure myself that these anxieties are all in my head, and that he will call again, like he said he would, when he could make a plan to see me.
But, seriously. The beginning with all its newness? And excitement? Is a little much for a girl to take at times.
Signs
Signs of a good date
1) The waiter comes over and you have to tell him (twice) that no, you haven’t looked at the menu yet
2) There are no awkward pauses in conversation
3) Two hours go by and you feel like you have just sat down
4) You are both leaning forward towards one another, not because it is crowded and you can’t hear, but because you just want to be closer.
5) The couple at the table next to you looks over rather wistfully because your date is very obviously going THAT WELL.
The Serial Killer, with his atrocious opening line, made quite the impression last night. Dinner was fantastic – ironically enough, he picked the same restaurant that another suitor of mine had picked for last Sunday night. While the hostess officially thinks I am working for an escort service of some kind, I am actually glad we went there. The restaurant is a great first date place – when you actually want to be with the person sitting across from you.
In the immortal words of Carrie Bradshaw, don’t you just love the beginning – when you can say, “I think the Serial Killer and I will be very happy together” and almost believe it?
And if he makes it to another post, I will give him a new nickname.
Intern Incompetence
Remember
this guy? Not the good Intern, the annoying Intern, Cabana Boy. Today, I brought him a box of files. Judge wanted some things copied out of the box and I thought to myself, "This project has Cabana Boy written all over it." I had flagged with post-it notes which briefs Judge wanted copied. I gave the box to Cabana Boy and told him to have at it. I could tell he thought this project slightly beneath him, but I ignored the attitude and left.
About an hour later, I saw him in the hallway. I asked for an update and he said he had brought the box back to Judge and put the copies on top of the box. He then headed out for the day as I had no more work for him to do.
I went back to Judge's chambers to check the copies. Turns out, he copied them two-sided (which is very environmentally friendly, so I support it, but two-sided copies are a preference type thing and something Judge doesn't actually prefer) and he missed pages. I looked back at the box and realized he had also removed the post-its I had used to flag the documents, so I was going to have to go back through the entire box, pull apart the files, and re-copy the documents properly. To not copy check - to me, that's just sloppy. Am I being too harsh?
And I thought interns were supposed to make my life easier. Sigh. I am officially blowing off the rest of the day to watch basketball.
Serial Killer
“I am not a serial killer, you know.”
“Excuse me?”
“You can come over and talk to me because I am not a serial killer. You don’t have to worry.”
We’d been eyeing each other for quite some time, but since I don’t make the first move, I had accepted that nothing was going to come of our exchanged glances.
I blinked a few times, trying to process his odd pick-up line, and my confusion must have registered on my face. He finally came over and introduced himself.
“I am B. I just wanted you to know that I am nice and not scary and we should talk.”
“Okay”, I replied and then promptly sneezed.
My head cold made being at a bar barely tolerable but this boy kept me out way later than planned. He was tall, six foot four, and broad, but not bulky. I looked up at him when we talked and I felt small. In a good way. In a way that a girl who is five foot nine rarely feels.
He took my number at some point during our conversation. Finally, the dull ache in my head became too much to bear and I abruptly told him I had to go. Through deep hacking coughs, I told him it was nice to meet him. But that I had enough. Enough of him? No, most certainly not, but that is the impression I gave.
So, not surprisingly, he did not call. I cursed my head cold as it had knocked me off my game and given him the impression that I wasn’t interested. In frustration, I wondered why I met a nice, tall, cute boy when I was at my worst.
This past weekend, I stood with some friends at a nearby bar, watching a band. The bar was crowded, it was late, and the steep cover charge had almost prevented me from going inside at all.
The crowd moved in a blur in front of me, jostling me, and causing me to cling tight to my beer. I didn’t notice people as they went by, until someone stopped and blocked my view of the stage. I sighed and moved slightly to the right. He came closer and said, “Hi, I am B. Can I have a second chance?”
Upon recognition, I rolled my eyes and made room for him next to me so he could get away from the crowd.
“I wanted to call.”
I shrugged as if I didn’t care. “You don’t owe me an explanation.”
“No, I do though. Some stuff came up. I should have called. And after this time, I will.”
I shrugged again, but this time with less indifference and with a smile on my face.
Conversation overheard...
between two male co-workers while at today's office baby shower.
WorkDawg(married, no kids): "What's a onesie?"
Marine(married, four kids): "It is the name for an outfit that is one piece of clothing."
WorkDawg: "Oh. Kinda like a snowsuit?"
Marine: "Yep."
Developments
On Friday night, over bourbon and beers, my Roommate announced that she was gearing up to end her relationship. The bourbon made her just comfortable enough to discuss it, and frankly, the amount of attention she was attracting while sitting at the bar, helped a little too. I was sad to hear it because her boyfriend is a great guy, but I’ve never really thought he was the guy for her. She has mentally checked out of the relationship and now breaking up just seems like a formality. She took two guys’ phone numbers on Friday night and also received a witty cocktail napkin from another guy. I laughed along with her and then spent a good portion of Saturday debating when she could contact the Witty Napkin Guy.
At one point, she said, “Well, I don’t want to wait too long because that’s just not very nice.” She was in the kitchen and I was lounging in front of the TV so she couldn’t see my reaction. Um…you are worried about his feelings? Shouldn’t the primary concern be Boyfriend’s feelings and not the feelings of a guy who while witty is a COMPLETE STRANGER? I couldn’t help pointing out the irony. I really hope she actually sticks with her guns and ends it. And not so that we can spend more nights like Friday, because really, way too many beers but because I care about them and want them both to be happy.
So, that was Roommate’s weekend. Mine goes like this:
Number of boys who landed my phone number this weekend: 2.
Number of boys who called me on Sunday: 2.
Number of boys I actually spoke to on the phone: 0.
I hate the phone. I really do. I talk on the phone reluctantly as I am not very good on the phone. In person, I am great. Over email, even better! But I do not shine on the phone.
I get nervous, talk too quickly, and am just not myself. If you are calling me to make plans, well, let’s get that done and then hang up. I am not the girl you call to just chat. Since many of my good friends live far away, I reserve my phone time for them and everyone else gets short and to the point conversations.
The first boy to call me on Sunday was the bouncer I had given my number to on Saturday night. He was tall, muscular, wore an earring…so not my type. But he was very nice and I wound up talking to him a lot. Or I think that was my justification for giving him my number. When it was my turn to grab a round of beers, the bartender had to go to the back and re-stock, so he made me do shots while I waited. Okay, he gave them to me for free and I did not turn them down. Except for the tequila shot. I know better than that. Piecing together my conversations with Bouncer Guy was a rather difficult task. Bouncer Guy first called while I was at church yesterday morning, seeking absolution for my behavior and a reprieve for my hangover. God laughed at both requests. I listened to his message, which was very nice, and was rather stunned he had called so quickly. I then went out to lunch with a friend and when I got home, I noticed that he had called again. This message, again very nice, started out by him saying, “Looks like we are playing phone tag!”
Um, no. A game of phone tag involves two people missing each other’s return phone calls. Bouncer Guy, you have not been tagged. He then called again while I was tutoring but this time didn’t leave a message. I know I should call him back but I will most likely wait for a time when he won’t answer. So bad. I know. To be clear: I really hate the phone and would much rather send him a courier pigeon. Anything but call him.
The second boy to call me was a boy I met out on Friday night with Roommate. He was tall, cute, and very nice. The Editrix’s husband has a little bit of a thing for him already. He was very nice and attentive…so, we’ll see. I didn’t answer when he called BUT I did call him back shortly thereafter. He didn’t answer and then when he called back, I was watching the lovely Rob Lowe reprise his West Wing character of Sam Seaborn, except as a Republican on ABC.
Is it bad that I am hoping he calls during 24 tonight so I have a ready made excuse not to answer? I really need to get over my fear of the phone. In my defense, I used to have Belle make my hair appointments and order me pizza in college. I now perform those tasks myself, even though I always get flustered, go into information overload, and wind up telling the receptionist at my hair salon what I had for breakfast.
Bad sign?
Yesterday I sent an email to four associates at the Big Firm I am going to start working for in the fall. The bar association was having a happy hour right near Big Firm's office and seeing as I am a board member and needed to attend, I decided to invite the four associates. Four associates that were a big part of my decision to take the job because they were super friendly, told it to me straight, and I thought would make great co-workers.
Not one of them responded to my email. I have thought of a few reasons for the lack of response:
1) They are all way too busy to even look up from their work to read non-work related emails.
2) They read it, but chose not to respond because while they sold me on Big Firm during the interviews, they have no intention of being my new work best friends.
3) All of the associates are trapped under something heavy, read my emails on their Crackberries, desperately wanted to email me back but were physically unable to respond.
I know, Option #2 is totally wacky. But I am one of those people who always has been lucky enough to have friends at work. At every job I've ever had, I've always had someone to eat lunch with, grab a beer with, and of course, gossip with about everyone else in the office. In my sadness about them not responding, I am trying to keep in mind that finding friends at work is never instantaneous and often takes weeks or months to develop.
If it is Option #1, I am equally as nervous. I know I am going to be working a lot, but hopefully not so much that I can't shoot off a two sentence reply to an email about beers. If I won't be able to do that, how on earth will I squeeze in blogging?
And Option #3 was blatantly stolen from
When Harry Met Sally. But, maybe they are at an all associate retreat that doesn't allow contact with the outside world. Way more plausible than a filing cabinet falling on all four of them.
