The Invisible Woman

The Cube Farm has many quirks and foibles and while most of them irritate me to no end - a few of them are funny enough to make up the difference. I’ll postpone delighting you with our cost-savings measures that include unplugging our computers at night and turning off all the lights for an hour each day. I'm all for diminishing the whole carbon imprint, but when I can't see a sheet of paper I'm supposed to proofread from the hours of 12pm-1pm - you gotta wonder about the anti-effectiveness imprint.

Anyway - what cracked me up today is this. There is a boy at work who I am pretty sure has a crush on me.

The reason I'm able to Magnum P.I. my way to such a conclusion is, well, I attended grade school. The Boy is exhibiting some textbook playground behavior. And while he hasn't pushed my down and made me cry yet - some adolescent flirting has been going on. By this I mean - he ignores me.

I know what you're thinking - "Uh, loser, he's ignoring you because he doesn't care if you breathe in and out." But he's ignoring me to a level that is almost embarrassing. He's ignoring me so much that I can't help but smile and laugh as soon as he passes me.

My desk recently moved into a Cube Annex, which is just on the other side of the wall as my fellow office-weenies-at-arms. This puts me in a much different locale, which happens to be in a locale closer to The Boy. Two significant environmental factors have increased the level to which I see The Boy. 1.) The bathrooms are 1/2 way between our two desks and 2.) The crappy coffee machine is right outside the door to his office. And since I am a woman who is addicted to caffeine and because caffeinated beverages are the root cause of my need to urinate - well, I see The Boy a couple times a day at least.

It's odd that The Boy and I are not friends. We have friends in common. I often chair meetings of which he is in attendance. And now we're practically neighbors. And yet still, avoidance.

Friday, he dubiously ignored me as I addressed him by name and excused myself for reaching near him to get a 32oz. beverage cup which I then filled with diet Cherry Coke (another addiction). And today, as we passed (him on the way to the bathroom, me on the way to the coffee machine) he very carefully averted his eyes the nearly 10 yards from the time I was able to identify him as The Boy and the time we passed. Seriously, I kept my eyes up and focused the entire time, just to see if he would look at me and nothing. I may have actually begun my smirk before he passed, so sadly, he may now think I'm making fun of him. Which I guess I am, so it's a fair assumption.

I'm not 100% sure why The Boy is ignoring me, but naturally there are a few Theories:

1. He's madly in love with me and doesn't know how to tell me
2. He's madly in love with me and is afraid he'll lose his job if we date and inevitably break up
3. He's madly in love with men, has sensed my elevated perceptiveness and is afraid I'll narc him out to the boys club
4. He thinks I am a sorceress and if he looks directly at me I will cast an evil spell on him
5. He knows that I know he's a Lions fan and is too ashamed to make eye contact (little does HE know, I'm a Notre Dame fan and don't shun those who blindly bow to the alter of sketchy football teams)
6. He knows that my longest relationship lasted just over a year and he doesn't want to become the next "EDH's ex-boyfriend"
7. He thinks he is too tall to date me (little does he know this is the one thing I do like about him)
8. He's afraid that I'm the sort of woman who would irrationally buy a motorcycle (or worse yet, would ask him to ride bitch)
9. And while I doubt it with all of the Jessica Fletcher, Charlie's Angels, Magnum P.I. instincts I possess - maybe he can't stand me and would rather look at his steel-toed boots than at my face.

Regardless, it's made for some excellent fodder and if it happens to be Theory 1, 2 or 6 - well, yes, it's encouraged me to dress a little snappier over the past few weeks and even test out some new perfume (not that you can smell it over the machine oil on the way to the Cube Annex). All this, so I can torment some poor, hapless Boy who had the misfortune to develop a crush on the sadistic likes of me.

Yeah, Theory 4 isn't entirely out of the realm of possibility....

Love Duo

I happen to live in a pretty cool city (and not just because the governor declared it one). I've known for quite some time that small-town city livin' is the right kind of livin' for me. There are times I think about buying a house on the same street as my sister out east, but dammit - I can't imagine leaving this cool city.

It's cool for lots of different reasons. It's got a couple colleges, houses a pretty impressive art scene, is way more hefty on the lefty side of politics - and it also offers excellent square footage for some decent nightlife.

You've got your live music, you've got your microbrews, you've got your Irish pubs, you've got a little bit of country and a little bit of rock-n-roll. And don't even get me started on the fine assortment of crappy bars.

One of the reasons I know I live in a cool city is that I have friends from out of town who tell me so. I've got out of town friends who spend so much time in my town, I'm beginning to wonder what's keeping them in a less than cool city.

Tonight some friends decided to take a little hop to some of our local establishments. We managed to put some time into a sports bar and a dive bar and then decided it would be a good time to elevate the evening at our most favoritest pizza place, which now sports an upstairs bar and is dabbling in live music.

You have to love this pizza place. The guy who runs it is sorta like Seinfeld's Soup Nazi. He takes his pizza that seriously. The first time I took my father there - his eyes glassed over as he was mesmerized by the tender care our pie received as the owner gently blotted it with about 1/2 a roll of paper towel. This man loves his pizza. He is what I call - Intense.

We decided to hit the pizza joint, because my friend CT read that there was going to be some music there - a Norwegian jazz duo, and it would be good to support Mr. Intense's new venture. CT loves jazz. And I love that about her.

I love the idea of loving jazz, but the truth is - it usually puts me into some sort of comatose state that isn't good when you're trying to keep up your half of a conversation. But hey - I'm also someone who LOVES having a good story to tell. And how great would it be on Monday to answer the standard "What did you do this weekend?" with "Oh, just went to go see this Norwegian jazz duo." So, I'll drink a Red Bull - it would definitely be worth the drowsiness.

Mr. Intense was in rare form as he served us our drinks - I may even have mentioned like he was about to have a stroke. He was sweaty and generally "clammy" looking. Nerves, I figured. Anyway, the music was quick to get started and Mr. Intense took the opportunity to introduce the dynamic duo.

I kinda felt like I was in a school assembly and the teacher was introducing the speaker, but in-between the lines really telling you that if you fucked around and embarrassed him, you were going to feel his wrath. Like I said, he's pretty effing intense.

Anyway, after we were told to be respectful of the "listening room" he'd created - the "improvisational" jazz duo got started. The drummer was kind of cute and named after one of the Hobbits, the other much older and sporting a clarinet. Still the word rang out in my ears...improvisational...what would that entail?

SSSCCCRREEEEEAAAAAAAACCHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Holy eff. My eardrums didn't actually start bleeding, but I think some brain fluid dripped out my ears.

SSSCCCRREEEEEAAAAAAAACCHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Back when I was in my early 20's and living in New York City, I often pretended to like things just to be a cool metropolitan city dweller. Those days are long over. Because I was sitting in the middle of hell.

Many of the patrons put on a good act, but my friends had a much more difficult time pretending that what we were listening too could even be classified as music.

All eyes went immediately to CT. While I know this was not her fault - I will most likely blame her when I re-tell this story.

When faced with situations like this I very rarely act with decorum. No, I laugh. But I was also fearful of Mr. Intense, so I kept most of it on the inside - which quite nearly led to some early-stage incontinence. Seriously, I don't remember the last time I nearly wet my pants from laughter.

The screeching continued, followed by some high-pitched scraping of the stick around the circumference of the snare drum. The tuneless, beatless "music" continued until we actually had to do the mature thing and excuse ourselves.

Maybe I'm just not cultured enough to appreciate the nuance of what we witnessed. All I know is that when I started playing oboe in the 8th grade I sounded just like the Norwegian chap on the clarinet and no one was looking to pay me for my talents. Dammit - I was an effin' prodigy and didn't even know it. I could have had a successful career as an improvisational jazz artist. Another dream dashed.

Anyway - I won't hold it against my cool city, because the truth is - when someone asks me what I did this weekend I will proudly reply - "I saw a Norwegian improvisational jazz duo" and I will smile, maybe laugh and quite possibly - pee my pants.

Mid-life Crisis

I am not a 55-year-old man. I am not balding or newly-divorced. No kids just shuffled off to college, no tawdry affair with someone half my age.

And yet I fear I am going through a mid-life crisis.

It did not creep up on me slowly - it hit me like a lightening bolt. I was walking along with a friend and he pointed to a spot in our parking lot. There it was. Beautiful, shiny and my favorite color.

A motorcycle.

My friend's motorcycle, to be exact. A motorcycle that he's thinking about selling, so he can upgrade. A motorcycle that practically sang out my name as we passed.

I don't know what possessed me, but we walked towards it, my friend put the key in the ignition, he showed me where the clutch was and then I gave it a little gas.

Sold!

I'm not 100% sure I'll be buying the bike. But I'm 100% sure I'll be dreaming about it tonight.

Stalking and Other Favorite Pastimes

Tonight I rushed home from work, jumped in the shower, got semi-gussed up and called my friend CT to see what time we were meeting the girls out. I love girls night out. Especially my girls.

Alas, tragedy struck because, well, I'm a dumb-ass who has had a lot on her mind lately. When I called CT, she reminded me that we were all hanging out NEXT Tuesday. I could practically hear her roll her eyes through the phone. Crap.

So there I was, all dressed up with no place to go.

So, I decided to go out anyway. No place fancy mind you, but it seemed like a waste of lip gloss to throw on the yoga pants and look all cute for the Olympics.

I decided to start at Meijer, mainly because I've been meaning to cash in my big change jar for some time now and for some reason cashing in change always feels like free money. Yes, I get that it's MY money, but it's just CHANGE. That is until you dump it into a Coinstar machine - that's when the magic happens and it becomes actual money. Imagine me 15 minutes later with $79.16 in my purse and a smile on my face.

Now that I had free money - I decided to hit my favorite store (rhymes with Smarget) where there was Clorox wipes and new gym socks ready to become new treasures. I was about to head home when I realized I was about 50 pages from finishing the third book in this series my sister has gotten me hooked on. The fourth book is out and I figured I'd pick it up at my local books and coffee place.

Books and Coffee places are some of my favorite places. Mainly because I love books and I love coffee and the sumbitch who put the two together can have my firstborn child for doing such a nice thing for the rest of us. I perused the bargain books (nearly buying a "Learn Spanish in 30 Days" cd for $6.98 - except am I really going to learn Spanish in 30 days or is it going to sit and collect dust right next to my "Learn Italian" and "Learn Japanese" cd's? I continued on.) I finally picked up the final installment in little book drama and headed for the coffee section, as I usually grab a cup of joe and cash out at the same time.

Except today, apparently everyone on the planet needed a cup of coffee at 6 o'clock at night and there was a line from here to Indiana. I decided I'm already staying up too late with the Olympics and this crack cocaine-like addiction I've procured over these books, so I opted to head straight for the regular cashiers. And that's where I met him.

I love free money. I love perusing Smarget. I love Books and Coffee. And now - I love Phillip. Phillip is the cutest non-tv-personality boy I've seen in ages and he smiled at me and asked if I was all set. Oh was I!

I handed Phillip my book, at which point he spoke the name of the title aloud. It was then that I cringed a bit. Did I mention these habit-forming books can be found in the Young Adult section of the bookstore? Oh yeah. Phillip now thinks my reading level hovers around that of your average junior high student. Awesome.

I smiled and said, "Yeah, my damn sister."

Phillip said, "Ohh."

I could have left it at that. Let sweet, beautiful Phillip think that my sister is a sassy tween whose birthday is right around the corner and aren't I a good big sis to buy her books instead of the latest Jonas Brothers cd?

But naturally I said, "Yeah, she's gotten me hooked on these books."

Instead of rolling his eyes and sticking his finger down his throat, the angelic Phillip simply smiled and said, "Do you have a Books and Coffee membership?"

I said, "No."

Phillip said, "Could I interest you in one?" (hmmmm)

"No, thank you," I responded.

"Okay," said Phillip.

"Wow, where's the hard sell?" I asked. (This, sadly, is how I flirt. Very lamely.)

Yet still, Phillip smiled and said, "That IS my hard sell."

"Hmm. Needs some work," my answer with a wink. (yes, I also wink. I can't stop myself. I curse my grandfather for ever teaching me how to wink. People must always think I'm picking them up, whether I am or not.)

Unfortunately, I only had the one book and since Phillip has cat-like speed working the cash register, out brief interlude was just that - brief.

"Have a great night," Phillip smiled and chuckled.

"You too..." and I checked out his Books and Coffee badge, "...Phillip."

And it was over.

Except I fear, it will not be. Now my weekly trips to Books and Coffee will not follow the same routine of magazine rack, novelty books, new in paperback, biographies, spirituality, bargain books, coffee counter. No, I'm sure it will now be main checkout, information booth and aisle check for a green lanyard and a badge swinging along with one divine word - Phillip.

On considering the possibility of love...

What a brave and reckless thing we do

When we put our heart in the hands

Of another.

Some say foolish.

I might agree, except for that feeling

Of absolute certainty

When one first falls in love.

It is a moment when truths come to light,

When the lost are found,

When destiny and serendipity inexplicably

And perfectly entwine.

So who am I to say “foolish”?

What is foolishness, but to laugh in the face of the unknown?

To tread again on a path of prickly briars

And not fear its lashes?

For love holds no malice,

Just exquisite pain.

And what is a little pain?

What, even, is a tidal wave of pain –

When paired with the illogical beauty

That is love?

So let my heart break again.

I fear not the tears, nor the ache,

Nor the break.

Because in the cracks, love winds its way

Back to the source.

And a heart is born from ash.

E.D.H.

Unfunny ain't funny

I'll spare you the apologies for the lack of blogging. But I'll give you an un-prompted reason.

I just don't feel that funny.

I could wax poetic about family. I could zing you with the gaping holes in our health care system. I could tell you all why we should all live healthier, more engaged lives.

But what's funny about that?

I was beginning to think the funny had just gone by way of the dodo.

But then...

I did what I always tell other to do - I took a deep breath and I looked around.

Funny is everywhere.

It's my friend CR calling a Styrofoam-cup-turned-paint-bucket "the cat's ass".

It's my friend DC telling a co-worker we just catered in an afternoon snack of "cheeses, biscuits and crackers from foreign lands".

It's saying to my friend, CT, "Oh, wasn't he a soma lier?" and her answering "No, I don't think he was African."

It's my dad wearing a "ROCKSTAR" t-shirt.

It's the open-mic night guy saying he was gonna play some "old stuff from the 90s".

It's learning that F.U.D. stands for female urination device (would that I'd discovered that on the Pine River!)

It's teaching my niece last week... "Fi, what's a pirate say?"... "Arrrrg"

So, even in my semi-somber state. I've laughed pretty frickin' hard. Maybe that's all we can aspire to. And I'll tell you, that's not a bad aspiration.