Temp to Perm
One of the things I am working hard to internalize - by which I mean
believe as opposed to just
know - is that happiness is not finite. There is absolutely
no relationship between my happiness (or lack thereof) and the success, romance, health, whatever, of other people. But my subconscious isn't totally down with this notion. Some years ago I had this dream(which I still think about, obviously) in which I was at a large fondue-centric gathering. It included my high-school-friend-who-was-always-cooler-than-me (who I haven't seen since 1995). We all had our forks at the ready, and the party host was doling out cubes of cake and dip-able goodness, and
everyone got a piece, except (of course) for me.
I started at my foster job in August, and a few weeks later, the office hired a second temp to coordinate The Office Moves to End All Moves (we moved a 3-person staff from room #146 to room #151, but the drama paralleled the transfer of nuclear waste). Anyway, said temp stayed on after the move and worked her ass off. I have also worked my ass off, but to be fair, my ass remains mainly intact and hers shows significant shrinkage. Because it sucks sucks sucks to be a contractor, we periodically commiserated and compared notes about how long it would take for us to be instated officially.
Last week she got the word: she is now an official VPS employee, and is chirping (not in a mean way) about vacation time and sick time and retirement benefits and access to the gym and all that. Everyone is super sensitive about my reaction, and our mutual boss said right away that "her #1 job is to work the bureaucracy to get Dori hired permanently," but this woman is an admin (former temp) and really? There is not much she can do. Our supervisor talks constantly about how hard she is working to get this sorted out. I
know that the other woman's official employee-dom has no bearing on mine, and that she's totally deserving of everything, and that this means the world to her.
But still. I have already suggested plans for a celebration (and the purchase of a VPS T-shirt), but I know it will be really hard to get fully joyful. Even though I know I should.
Posted by Dori at 5:55 PM
Shaking. Then Shaking it Off.
So this morning I attended a very important meeting. Previously, I'd organized two separate meetings to strategize for this one. I did hours of research on key topics. I obsessed about what to say, how to present my objectives, and what to wear.
Last night, I engaged in my patented prepare-a-palooza. This entailed: trying on my professional looking clothes to avoid last-minute stain removal/ironing/underwear shortage, organizing all papers related to the meeting, typing up talking points, setting two alarms to ensure I'd wake up on time, leaving tons of extra time for the commute, checking a zillion times to ensure possession of pen, keys, subway pass, and wallet.
In addition, I have been so paranoid about this meeting that I've actually checked and rechecked the meeting agenda on several occasions, because I had this nagging fear that I'd misread it and that the meeting had actually been scheduled for
last Tuesday, or Monday, or a different day altogether.
So. I arrived at the meeting destination exactly 30 minutes early. I settled in at a different lobby with a crossword puzzle, to avoid appearing like a crazy early meeting stalker. After sufficient time had passed, I arrived at the office and was greeted by a puzzled staffer who told me that the meeting had started at 8:00. EIGHT. Not EIGHT fucking THIRTY. In the billions of time I'd checked the agenda, the room location, the names of the participants, and every other detail, I'd somehow managed to get that wrong. I have no excuse or explanation. I just fucked up.
There was no way to convey how out of character this was for me, without revealing just how insanely prepared I actually was. So after several apologies, I took a deep breath and did my best to shake off my horror, and move on, and rock the meeting to the extent possible. Still, since 8:30 this morning, I have periodically thought about what happened, and writhed in shame and disbelief.
But now that I have blogged about my major gaffe, I am officially laying it to rest.
Posted by Dori at 10:18 PM
Bills, bills, bills
I am an organized person, I swear. I set up e-mail alerts for birthdays, street cleaning, new contact lenses, the britta filter replacement. I do the six month dentist thing. My house is mostly clean. My car almost always has adequate gas in the tank. My possessions are arranged in a logical manner, and I generally can find stuff when I need it. And for the most part, I stay on top of time commitments.
But the bills? What's the deal with the bills? Most of my expenses are managed electronically, so really I have four checks to write each month: student loan, rent, health insurance, and credit card. Only FOUR bills to contend with. And what do I do? I think about them all month, wondering if they are due or if I already paid them. I put the checkbook and bills in a pile that migrates from the desk to dining room table and the pile is featured on multiple to-do lists that include "pay bills." And eventually I become so lame that I take stamped envelopes and checks - one by one - to the mailbox outside my office. I am incapable of writing out the check in advance, and actually do it it while standing in the hallway next to the mail drop.
I have no explanation for this. Do you?
Posted by Dori at 10:02 PM
The Mall
My office is located close to a mall, and last night I decided to go after work. I am in the market for some plain black dress shoes, and maybe some pants.
As soon as I got to the there, I knew it was a mistake. Throngs of teenagers were roaming around in an old-making way. I ate some food court food. It came in a styrofoam container, and I'm still imagining it choking some sea turtle somewhere. The merch was either slutty, overpriced, or unflattering. I tried on a few things and they fit poorly. Worse, I took a look at myself in the scary full-length dressing room mirror, under the scary dressing room lighting, and had a minor meltdown about a mole on my back (has it become more irregularly shaped since the last time I looked at it - which was, who knows, maybe last year?) and a visible vein on the back of my leg (is it revolting? are my days of skirt-wearing numbered?).
Also: fashion designers of America? Lots of us are
not pregnant. So could you please, please make some tops that aren't fitted right under the bustline?
It's so confusing - one would think the mall would entice us to stay and buy, rather than leaving with a bad mood and no stuff.
Posted by Dori at 9:27 AM
A Whale of a Tale: UpDATES #500,225 and #500,226
First off, date #2 with the writer (the one who is not so social and not so into kids) was fine but also final. We went to the Museum of Natural History, and checked out
glass flowers and a prehistoric whale. However, we did not fall in love and I don't think we'll be seeing each other again.
Then I went out with a journalist, whose profile made reference to Proust, Schubert, and several other hoity-toity cultural icons. I emailed him hoping that I'd be sufficiently high brow, and we exchanged a few messages before deciding to meet. Meanwhile, I googled him and found only a handful of bylines; he writes for a small paper in a nearby fishing town (we'll call it Roucester).
So I arrived at the cafe and waited for Mr. Roucester. An intense-looking guy careened past me, our eyes locked in that urgent are-you-who-I-think-you-are-because- if-not-we're-staring-weirdly -at-each-other manner. He kept walking; I assumed he was meeting someone else. Then he whirled around and asked me if I needed anything, which I understood meant that he was a random coffee house patron/staff member offering to get me some coffee. But no. That awkward, non-introduction? That was my date.
Once I realized who he was, we settled into the longest hour-long conversation of all time. He talked about growing up in Roucester. He told me about clams. And swordfish. And scallops. And haddock. He told me about going tuna fishing and about how everyone on the boat did drugs, and lobbed dynamite around the deck, and how they didn't catch anything after two long days at sea (shocking).
He told me about how he used to write for a conspiracy theory website, and how he also wrote a "very poorly edited" young adult book about the KGB, which got "lukewarm-to-negative reviews," but which scored him an inquiry from a Haitian newsmagazine with no Internet access. The clincher?
He also once wrote for a youth culture website, and was among the first to test-drive a nifty drug called
GHB, and he tried it and shared it among his friends, before realizing that it wasn't so nice and then pitching it into the trash ("my friends were wicked disappointed, but what are you gonna do?"). I checked to make sure the lid on my coffee cup was securely attached, and then suggested we get going.
I did not want to be rude, but could not stop thinking about how much I wanted to go home, and how blog-worthy this experience was, and about how it is possible to a fucking
journalist to talk for a solid hour about fucking seafood without asking me a single question.
I thanked him for teaching me about marine life, and he gave me his card and asked if he could call me. I referred him to my email address, and then stumbled to the subway.
Ahoy, mateys.
Posted by Dori at 8:10 PM
Cancel that - the universe is chuckling
So my conversation partner (CP) is awesome. Despite the inherent weirdness of meeting up with a stranger and then speaking clumsily in a foreign language, we had fun. CP is super cute (but not hot, so he did not incite lust), and nice, and funny. He is not hooked into a network of countrymen, as I had hoped, and so he will probably not be introducing me to my future husband. In fact, he's been here since August and received nary a helping hand from his people. Apparently many international students actively and intentionally avoid one another, either because they've defected from their homelands for a reason, or because they're striving to integrate with the locals. Apparently the Americans have not extended friendship either, or rolled out a welcome mat of any kind. It seemed like CP's only friend so far is his officemate, who has self-professed issues.
I would like to reach out to CP and his wife, especially since they really like it here, and feel comfortable with the prospect of spending the next 6-8 years (PhD time) in the area, and perhaps staying forever after that. This is refreshing, since often international students/faculty are in permanent "departure mode,"and don't want to establish roots or meaningful relationships because their stay is temporary.
Also: I learned many new words. We plan to meet up again next week. So as my wise friend A. pointed out, the universe is gently chuckling, and not cackling after all.
Posted by Dori at 8:06 PM
Another Cackle from the Universe
At the university where I work, there is a program that matches up Americans with international students/faculty for language exchange. I filled out the form and asked to be matched with a native Spanish speaker (because my once-fluent Spanish has become an embarrassment), or a native Hebrew speaker (I rarely use my similarly once-fluent Hebrew, and would prefer not to suck when when my Israeli cousins come to visit in May).
On the form, I indicated that I would also be amenable to being matched with someone from some random country who just wants to practice English. I envisioned chatting it up with a hip Czech or Korean or Moroccan girl, who might become my new BFF, and I'd take her to see the Freedom Trail, and drive her to Target, and she'd teach me Czech/Korean/Arabic swears, and how to make dumplings/kimchee/tagine.
Somehow I just assumed that I'd be matched with a woman. However, the coordinator emailed a few days ago and announced that my conversation partner is "Ziv." Some facebooking and linkedin-ing yielded a hot photo of an Israeli guy who is a few years older than me, who studied at some prestigious university and is now doing groundbreaking research in Boston. You'll be surprised to know that while I entertained some fleeting hopeful feelings about a love connection with Ziv, my general response was disappointment. Truly, I am not seeking out more stilted interactions with Jewish strangers. As you well know, I have enough of that in my life already.
It turns out, of course, that Ziv is married, so the fleeting hope was instantly crushed, and I was presented with an even more annoying scenario. I am not looking for awkward encounters with single guys, and I am
definitely not looking to hang out with someone hot, Jewish, accomplished, and fucking unavailable. I seriously considered ditching the whole thing, and telling Ziv that I am just too busy to take on a conversation partner right now.
But then key members of Team Dori weighed in, and they all pointed out that if Ziv is nice, his wife might also be nice, and maybe even a BFF prospect. Ziv and his lady might have cool friends to whom I could be introduced. And it's possible (though unlikely) that Ziv himself may have a twin brother in search of a green card.
My non-date is on Monday night, and I will keep you posted.
Posted by Dori at 6:35 PM
The Deluge Abates (and upDATE #500,224)
The flood of JDates is pretty much done, but after IP Boy, there was one more date with this writer.
We had a nice coffee date in which it became apparent that:
1) He's cute in a very nerdy, edgy way
2) He's smart and cultured
3) He's not into babies
4) He's kind of a loner, and has a few close friends in other states
So I have some concerns about items 3 and 4. While I was happy to commiserate with him about the (generally detrimental) impact that other people's babies have on one's social life, and even express my fear of someday becoming an uber mommy who uses the term
play date without scorn, I still like to think of myself as a future parent, and would like to be with someone who entertains that notion as well. The writer has two nieces who live nearby, and he has only babysat on a few occasions and thus far never changed a diaper. Worrisome.
Further, he talked about how he's kind of a solitary guy. Playing sports is his main social scene. He has some close friends but they're not local. While this is totally cool and no reflection of his possible loveliness, my aforementioned social life could use a jumpstart right about now. Too many of my friends have defected to other states or suburbia, so ideally, my future husband will be part of a cool crew. We'll all bond and have dinners together, and picnic on the fourth of July, and play Taboo on snowy evenings, and maybe help each other with interior painting.
Me and the writer will probably hang out again, but I'm just saying.
Posted by Dori at 7:23 PM
