Weekday Updates

Boyfriend Watch 2009

BW09 is going WELL!  SSG has learned there are dudes EVERYWHERE--on the train, in the rain, at the store, at her door.  Passing by, saying hi.  It's a veritable Dr. Seuss of potential dates.  Especially during March Madness (thank you college basketball).  SSG is hoping there are just as many boys that enjoy baseball because um ... then SSG will know what she's talking about.

Except!  Apparently SSG is IN IT in her bracket at work.  If two particular college teams win then SSG wins some cash.  SSG couldn't tell you WHAT teams, but it's on a sticky note on her desk somewhere after she had asked Work BFF "what two teams am I rooting for again?" a few too many times.

"Ladieth" Reunion

SSG will be flying down to San Francisco in a few weeks to spend some quality time with her college roommates, Digs and Spleen, and CAN NOT wait.   In fact, let's count how many days stand between her, sore stomach muscles from laughing and about seventeen bottles of wine.

The Countdown is Currently At:  

18!!

Quiet Guy

Speaking of Spleen (hi Spleendawg!), she e-mailed me the other day and said "Wait.  Do you LIKE Quiet Guy?  I didn't think you did, but now I can't tell."

In case you readers are having the same question.  

NO.  

I do NOT like Quiet Guy.  

I mean I guess I like him okay as a coworker (he gets his shit done), but I don't LIKE HIM LIKE HIM.  We moved into a new office and I find myself sitting next to him (separated by a 6 foot tall cube wall).  And he is ... um.  Still quiet.  I used to think he was just nice and shy but the more I interact with him and see how he handles himself, I realize he's kind of mean.

Not to mention I'm in kind of an awkward spot because a friend of mine really likes him and he pretty much leads her on.  I hear what she tells me (they hang out a couple of times a week) and then I hear what he has to say about it (not nice AT ALL).  Of course I can't say anything to her about it and it's starting to effect me wanting to hang out with her since I hear her going on and on about him.  Gah!  So QG is definitely annoying SSG these days.

But!  On the upside!  Because of how our cubes are arranged, there are no more drive by staring sessions.  So hopefully this will be the last you hear about this boy!

Spring Cleaning Marathon

And because I know you LOVE hearing about what I've been cleaning.  You do!  I KNOW you do!

SSG is definitely starting to hit a WALL.  Last weekend it was all about cleaning her car and getting paperwork in order.  My GOAL is to have the kitchen (cabinets cleaned and rearranged) and dining room carpets cleaned before I go down to California and if I can squeak out a little garage organization I'll buy myself something pretty.  (But even if I don't, I'll still probably buy myself something pretty.)

SSG is also secretly hoping that her second wind will hit and she'll be able to work some magic in her office.  The kitchen is the bane of her existence, but her office is ... whatever comes after bane.

And Fisher ...

U haz cookeez 4 meez?

That face.  Those ears.  Her sweet little puppy paws that tangle up in a mess of back legs, front legs, tail and nose when she sleeps. 

She has been MORE than patient.  I knew she had it when she slept downstairs on the couch last week and wouldn't come when I called her.  (Might have broken SSG's heart in a million little pieces.)

She finally got her doggy spoiling weekend.  She had a bath and manicure.  She got to play with her neighbor friend, Wrigley the sheltie.  We went on walk after walk.  And she ran all of my errands with me, patiently waiting in the front seat of the car watching the world go by.  Last night as I was drifting off to sleep, I heard her nose nuzzle into the covers.  And then burrow in again in a different area.  And then again in another.  Until she finally managed to move her body enough (without getting up) to rest her head on my leg and let out a little sigh.

And life is exactly where it should be.

Stars! They're Just Like SSG.

This weekend SSG learned she has one MORE thing in common with Gwyneth Paltrow.

According to People Magazine Gwennie says "I'm very clean, but I'm not tidy.  I'm very bad at putting stuff away."

The other ways SSG is like Gwyneth Paltrow?

1)  She's a woman.

2)  She breathes air.

Fantasy Island Friday

Good Morning Lovlies!

Happy Friday.  I don't know what ya'll had for breakfast but SSG will be having THIS at The Four Seasons in Nevis.

It's not so much that she needs to get energized for a long day of doing THIS ...

But more for a long day of doing HIM ... 

Do you think the hair gel is a bit much though?  

Eh.  Who cares?  SSG is on vacation!

Riding in Elevators with Boys

One of the reasons I love my work BFF is that he's totally comfortable answering my random stream of consciousness questions as if we're having the most normal conversation on the planet.

SSG:  I found out Starey Guy speaks Russian.

BFF:  Really?

SSG:  Yeah.  Do you think he wears those outfits from Dancing with the Stars on the weekends?

BFF:  No.

SSG:  Do you think he has a collection of nesting dolls at home?

BFF:  No.

SSG:  What should we call that guy who just got hired and walks about as loud as a stampede of elephants?

BFF:  Babar?

SSG:  Works for me.

Sometimes we don't need to talk to each other at all.  And those moments usually find us acting as if we're 12 years old.

Yesterday a group of us were standing at the elevator bank waiting to go downstairs for our afternoon sugar/caffeine run.  Two different elevator doors opened at the same time and as people hesitated for a second to see which elevator we were going to go in, Work BFF and I took one look at each other, bombed for separate elevators and frantically started pressing the close button to see who could get down to the lobby first.

We were both yelling "GET IN, GET IN, GET IN!!!" at our poor confused coworkers who finally caught onto what we were doing and jumped in just as the doors were closing.  We all hunched down in Elevator SSG hoping that would somehow help us get downstairs quicker.  At the last possible second, I stood with my nose almost touching the door.

I heard the telltale ding that we had reached the lobby and pressed the open door key over and over again, watching with one eye as the elevator doors opened onto Elevator BFF.  And just when I thought we might have won, I saw one eye looking at me from the elevator across the way.  We both slammed out of our respective elevators and yelled at the exact same time "I SO WON!"

Our coworkers were cracking up as we all walked to get coffee and work BFF and I fell into step next to each other as if the whole thing had never happened.

SSG:  If you were going to paint your house what color would you paint it?

BFF:  Dude, you're NEVER going to paint your house.

SSG:  Shut up.

BFF:  You shut up.

Who Has Some Prozac?

Because I might need some.  Or maybe one of those sun lamp thingies?  

Because SSG is about. To. Lose. Her. Shit.

It started when an article came out about Portland.  Depression, suicide, unemployment, blah blah blah.  

But THAT wasn't what bothered me.  Seattle was saying that when I moved there in 1997.  I'm pretty sure it's the Chamber of Commerce's way to keep people out of the Northwest.  They don't like people to move here.  Especially us sucky Californians.  We ruin EVERYTHING.  (Look, I'm happy to go back to San Diego.  Just please remove everyone who moved there from everywhere else in the country first.  Thank you.)

What bothered me was that the article mentioned 262 average days of rain.  

And I started doing the math of what that translated to in sun days (103).  ONE HUNDRED AND THREE.

And now I'm starting to wonder where I should move once this economy picks back up.

Because THIS:

SO. Over. IT.

(Please note the emphasis on "DRY" in the above photo.  They're so cute.  Wake me WHEN THERE IS SUN.)

I'm done with the gray, with the soaked pant hems, with the lack of need for sunglasses, with muddy, closed dog parks and no farmers markets.  With the need for my winter coat and homeless guys asking me directly "WHEN IS WINTER GOING TO BE OVER?"

Now ... I can't remember if I feel this way every March.  I think I do ... and just have selective amnesia.  So I'm going to plan an island trip for next February/March and see if that helps.  But if it doesn't, you might be seeing me in ...

Los Angeles?  

North Carolina?  

Texas?  

Virginia?  

Tennessee?

It doesn't snow in any of those places, does it?

(Please excuse SSG while she crawls under the covers with a bag of Cadbury Mini Eggs and hibernates until the 4th of July.)

Office Horticulture

So I work as a financial analyst.  It is a dude HEAVY career path and I am one of only three female analysts in our office.  The guys we work with are very respectful and funny and I've never felt like the odd man out ... girl out?  Whatever.

So yesterday one of the other female analysts and I were coming back into the office after running out for coffee and as we walked by our admin assistant's desk she yelled "hey LADIES!" Loudly.  Like a female version of Jerry Lewis.

Both of us whirled around wondering if we were tracking in coffee grounds or somehow had managed to pick up a wad of toilet paper on the heels of our shoes.

"You need to figure out where to put those plants."

We moved into new office space yesterday and a few plants from around our old office were grouped together in the waiting room.

"Oh, um."  We both stammered.  I just replied "I. Think. They. Look. Good. There?"  Wondering why in the hell she was asking the person who is seriously surprised she has managed to keep some primroses alive for longer than five minutes and is pretty sure it has to do with the landscapers my HOA hires or Predo and Jimmy coming over and fertilizing them when I'm not home.

We both walked back to our desks and were like "that was weird."  A few seconds later one of my other coworkers came into my cube.

Coworker: I resent the sexism of what just happened there.

SSG: Oh.  I don't know that she meant anything by it.

Coworker:  Just because I'm a GUY doesn't mean I don't know where to put plants.  GOD!

The Most Boring Person on Earth

Hello!

Remember when I used to go skinny dipping on the weekends?  Or fly to San Diego for spur of the moment trips?  Remember when I used to go to France?  Or stay in bed all day only to go to cool parties on downtown rooftops? 

Yeah I don't do that anymore.

Instead?

I clean.

My name is SSG and I'm a springcleanaholic.

(Hi SSG!)

I feel bad for anyone who has asked me what I did over the past few weekends.  Because all I've done is um, clean.  

And I tell anyone who will listen about the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser or my new Hoover Steam Vac.  Or how you can put baking soda and warm water on just about anything and it will magically disappear. 

I caught an episode of 30 Rock a couple of weeks ago where Tina Fey's character, Liz Lemon, had just gone shopping at a Container Store.  She was waxing poetic about all of the containers she bought to organize her shoes and store her keys and sort her mail when she looked up to the sky and said "This is IT.  I'm going to become WONDERFUL!"

And then Liz Lemon gets hit by a bike and shows up to her morning meeting saying she has had it with "decorganizing."

I looked around to see if the writers of 30 Rock had hunkered down in my living room to take notes on the MANIACAL cleaning burst of energy that is A FLOWIN' in Chez SSG.  Because I'm pretty sure I've uttered that very sentence at some point over the past few weeks.

Peeps, we're not talking about just your average dusting or vacuuming.  We're talking about taking the shower curtain down and washing not only it, but the shower curtain liner too.  And while that's swishing away in the washer SSG is standing on the edge of her tub taking down the shower curtain hook thingies and dusting those off too.  

We're talking about removing ALL of the furniture from the living room, taking off the covers over the couch cushions and washing them while Mr. Clean Erasing walls, baseboards, light switch covers and even Fisher as she runs for cover.  

We're talking about steam cleaning the carpets, dusting the blinds rung by rung, painting windowsills and washing windows.

We're talking about getting financial records in order and putting major appliance manuals in one place.  

We're talking about filing YEARS worth of article clippings and recipes into sheet protectors and putting then in binders BY SEASON.

Every once and a while I'll pass a mirror and ask "WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH ME?!"  But then I'll notice a spot on the mirror and get busy cleaning.

Saturday night I got hit by the metaphorical 30 Rock bike.  It happened right after I moved all the furniture back into the living room and was about to move all of the furniture out of the dining room and start cleaning those carpets at 7 p.m.  You know, the hour most people are starting to think about getting in the shower to go out on a Saturday night.  

But not SSG.  She was bound and determined to clean carpets and dust the liquor cabinet and chandelier and if there was time, start thinking about how to organize her kitchen (the BANE of SSG's very existence.)  

And that's when every cell in SSG's body screamed "Would you STOP?!  Go get a beer or watch Real Housewives of New York or read an US Weekly or something shallow you CRAZY BITCH!  Aren't you supposed to be finding a boyfriend or something GAH!"

I crawled up the stairs and into the shower barely managing to put on pair of my favorite pajamas before nestling into freshly washed white sheets and my cherry blossom duvet cover that I bring out every spring.  I sat up against a mess of down pillows and finished a novel before falling asleep to one of my favorite songs, Falling Slowly by Glen Hansard.

I stayed in my jammies until Sunday afternoon--drinking coffee and watching Meet the Press and Face the Nation.  While flipping through a magazine I realized I was hungry.  Within an hour I was back from the grocery store and standing, barefoot in my kitchen, sauteing leeks for a perfect springtime pea soup with fresh mint.  Fisher was laying on the kitchen floor, college basketball was on in the living room and my house was buzzing with energy that doesn't come from cleaning, but from being so present in a moment that you can't imagine being anywhere else.

Perhaps there is something to this decorganizing after all.

Fantasy Island Friday

Today I'm off to The Four Seasons Hotel in Bora Bora.

Question for you.  

If you were to walk out of your hotel room and come face to face with this pool and this ocean.  If you could feel the breeze on your face, smell the tropical flowers and hear the palm fronds brush together in the wind, would you:

A)  Summon the cabana boy for your beverage of choice.

B)  Slather yourself with suntan lotion and bake the day away in the sun.

C)  Run and cannon ball right into the pool.

The reason I ask, is I've arranged rooms for all of us and I'd hate to have you unprepared for such weighty decisions.

SSG's answer is decidedly C.  Followed closely by A and B in rapid succession.

U Askez 4 Meez?

Herez i iz!  

U haz cookeez 4 meez?

Miss Fisher was SO excited to hear she was missed!  She likes the idea that SOMEONE is paying attention to her.  Because if you see that box over her right shoulder, a little thing called a steam cleaner has been occupying SSG's time.  

SSG is currently washing every surface and object in her house.  And if Fisher didn't run away any time I broke the vacuum out, she'd have been steam cleaned too. 

Fishy has a day of doggy spoiling coming up soon.  Just right after I'm done dusting ... and vacuuming ... and organizing ... and ... well, sometime before June.

But since a lot of you are new around these parts, here are a few facts about the pupalah.

• Fisher is a girl, despite having a boyish name.
• She was named after M.F.K. Fisher, one of my favorite writers (who was a woman).
• She wears a pink collar to circumvent being called "him."
• It doesn't work.
• She'll be 4 years old this September.
• I brought her home from the Humane Society when she was just a twee little 6 week old puppy.  You can read about that here.
• She's 1/2 Golden Retriever and 1/2 Australian Cattle Dog.  Which means she stresses out when she has to choose between fetching a tennis ball and herding the cat. 
• The tennis ball always wins.  But she DOES have to think about it.  Hard.
• She curls up on my bed and sighs (loudly!) at night when I finally turn off the lights to go to sleep.
• It makes me giggle every time.
• She is usually no more than 5 feet away from me.  
• She is every bit as sweet as the picture up there makes her look.
• I ask her at least once a day "how did I get so lucky to have you?"
• She wags her tail and leans up against my legs.

I hope she feels half as lucky.

St Patrick's Day Recap

My plans for St. Patrick's Day are always ambitious.  

1)  Wear green.

2)  Make corned beef & cabbage.

3)  Drink Guinness.

4)  Listen to Irish music (like The Frames, not some curly haired chick playing the flute on a beach somewhere with doves flying in the background.  Just so we're clear.)

5)  Buy one of the little four leaf clovers in pots that cost about $20 and probably last for about 10 minutes. But. That. Are. SO. CUTE.

I am happy to say I accomplished ONE of those things yesterday.  But for a rip roaring good post read about the time "The Ladieth" and I went to Ireland here.

And spill it!  Who got pinched yesterday? 

Hussies. 

Babe* in Boyland

Just another Monday in the life of SSG ...

Quiet Guy

I was working away yesterday morning when I saw the telltale sign of QG lurking around the door to my cube.  I have taken to ignoring him, which turns into this odd moment of me knowing he is there but not acknowledging him and instead trying not to start giggling (SSG is AWESOME under pressure).  He wouldn't go away.  And kept inching one foot into my cube.  And then another.  Until he was standing smack dab in front of my desk.  

I couldn't NOT look up.

So I did.

And came face to face with a guy, who was decidedly not Quiet Guy, but a new guy that just got hired a couple of weeks ago.

SSG:  (Stammers) Oh hi!  I'm so sorry, I'm in the zone.  Did you need me for something?

After I answered his question I promptly e-mailed Work BFF what happened (despite the fact he sits not 20 feet away from me).  And as I was typing about how bad I felt but how FUNNY it was, it dawned on me.

I NOW WORK WITH ANOTHER GUY THAT HOVERS IN MY CUBE AND DOESN'T SAY HELLO. 

(Please excuse me while I go check to see if I have somehow started to grow snakes on my head instead of hair.)

March Madness

We're doing some kind of like basketball bracket type thingie for the college basketball championships.  Is it the championships?  Whatever,  I don't know.  All I know is I like the "MADNESS" of March.  It's fun to see everyone get into game after game after game after game for a span of a couple of weeks.  And I love college athletes--they play with so much heart.  I also love that last year we ducked out of work at lunch to go watch, ahem, part of a game at a sports bar close by.  And the sports bar was filled with A LOT of dudes.  Me. Ow.

Anyhoo!  Here's how the conversation with me and Work BFF went down.

BFF:  You in on the bracket?

SSG:  YES!

BFF:  Do you even know what that means?

SSG:  Sweet Sixteen, Elite Eight, Final Four?

BFF:  Yes.

SSG:  Sweet!

BFF:  But there are 65 teams.

SSG:  Oh.  65?

BFF:  Yes.

SSG:  Why not 64 or 66 so they can play in actual ... you know ... GAMES.

BFF:  Blah blah blah, worst teams, blah blah blah, winner plays best team.  Blah. And Blah.

SSG:  Whatever, I'm in.  Who is ranked #1?

BFF:  Well technically there is one number one team in four different blah blah blah.  

SSG:  So who are they?  Wait, wait, wait.  Let me guess.

BFF:  This should be good.

SSG:  It's probably someone like Duke, UNC, UCONN and I don't know Cal or something.

BFF:  (Silence.)

SSG:  Uh oh.  Am I way off?

BFF:  (Silence.)

SSG:  Uh oh.  I am, aren't I?

BFF:  (Silence.)

SSG:  Dude, it's okay you can tell me.

BFF:  (Silence.)

SSG:  You're freaking me out!  Who are the teams?  (Frantically Googles.)  Dude, three of the teams I picked are ranked # 3, 5 & 6.  Ha ha!  I didn't even look!  I am AWESOME AT THIS!

BFF:  (Walks out of SSG's cube.)

SSG:  Where are you going?

My Neighbor

 (No, Not the Neighbor Formerly Known as Cute Neighbor)

So one of my neighbors likes to evade arrest, lead cops on a high speed chase through my neighborhood until they eventually bust down his door at 1 a.m. but not before trying to pick up on the nanny across the street.  And the other one?  Well up until last week I never heard a peep out of him.

I'd see him occasionally.  My mom had met him once.  Bob of the Bobs had seen him.  Most of the time his garage door is closing just as I'm leaving.  Or mine is closing just as he is getting home.  I think I might? Wave? Occasionally?  If someone offered me $1,000,000 to tell you his name right now I'd have to say .... Kevin?  Keith?  Khan?  I have no idea.   WE HAVE LIVED NEXT DOOR TO EACH OTHER FOR FOUR YEARS.

I assumed he had some assemblage of body parts in an industrial strength freezer in his garage or whatever and next time the power goes out for four days in the summer and a strong odor wafts into the neighborhood and the cops go from my other neighbor's house to this neighbor's house to arrest the guy for being a serial killer I'd be one of those people on TV telling the reporter "He was SO quiet!  Never heard a peep out of him!"  

(Why yes, I DID watch a lot of CSI this weekend.  Why do you ask?)

But last week, I heard him.  Or rather his BASS.  I don't know if homeboy got a new stereo or WHAT.  But if you saw my post last Thursday I was at my vibrating wits end.  Wait.  That didn't sound the way I meant for it to.

Anyhoo.  I didn't want to be THAT neighbor.  And after four years of peace and quiet (except for the imaginary (or are they?) body parts) I wanted to cut the guy some slack on his new woofers or tweeters or WHATEVER is making that RACKET SONNY (insert SSG as an 87 year old woman's voice here).

But Sunday night the thump, thump, thump was going on after 11 p.m.  I got home at 6 p.m. tonight after leaving at 6 a.m. this morning and it was going on AGAIN.  So I brushed my hair, put on some lip gloss and hoped he wouldn't beat me up since I'm just a twee little girl and all.

I also hoped he wouldn't want to scalp me for his human suit.

I knocked.  

And I waited.

And I knocked louder.

And I waited.

BUT THE MUSIC WAS TOO LOUD.

So I pounded on the door, SWAT style (which I now know about thanks to NFKACN).

And it opened.

And the serial killer with the crazy bass looked at me and said ...

"Hey."  All kind and nice like "What's up?  I think I might know you from somewhere?"

And he was CUTE.

GAH!

I was all fired up because.  NOISE!  KEEPING ME UP!  I WORK HARD!  BASS THUMPING!  LOUD!  AND HAVE YOU LIVED HERE ALL THIS TIME BECAUSE YOU'RE TALL AND CUTE!  YOU DON'T HAVE ANY HEADS IN THE FREEZER, DO YOU?

Instead I pulled it together.  

SSG:  Hi, I live next door.  I'm so sorry to bother you, but I don't know if you got a new stereo or something?  (Blink. Blink.  Gosh you really are quite cute.)  It's just I've started noticing the bass over the last week and normally I wouldn't care but I've started to hear it quite late at night and ...

New/Old Neighbor:  I am SO sorry!  I've wondered.  I never hear a peep out of your place (are YOU a serial killer?) and I thought the insulation might be better.  Thank you so much for coming over and letting me know and not calling the cops or anything.

SSG:  Oh no, no, no!  I wouldn't.  And I certainly don't want to be THAT neighbor.  Nor do I want to come between you and good music.  It's just the BASS that has been killing me (kind of like that cute smile you have and your pretty eyes and what color is that on your walls back there, I like it.  FOCUS!)

NON:  My apologies, thanks again so much for letting me know.  I really appreciate you coming over.

SSG:  Ok, well um, thanks? (And shit, now I probably won't talk to you for another four years.)  Okay, bye!

NON:  Bye, thanks again!

The End

*"Babe" clearly means SSG is a BABY in Boyland.  

Hot or Not

Last week at work was draining.  We had a few of the big bosses in town and I think everyone was a bit on edge.  Everything went fine, but a lot of changes are in the works.  I think they're all good ones ... at least I hope they're all good ones.  They APPEAR to be.

The smallest of changes in this environment is scary though.  My first thought is one of panic like ohmahgahI'mgoingtogetfirednotbeabletopaymymortgageandamgoingtodie!!  That lasts about 5 minutes and then the rational part of my brain kicks in.  But it is TIRING.  Thursday night I got home from work, took Fisher for a walk and then came in the house, walked right past the TV, the kitchen, the shower went upstairs and dove straight into bed and fell asleep for an hour with my clothes still on.

I felt better on Friday, especially with the sun out.  The coffee posse and I headed out to get our respective fixes early in the day.  We all walked a little slower, soaking in the hint of spring time rays and were quiet ... contemplative.  

Work BFF finally broke the silence.

Work BFF:  I propose two topics for this morning's coffee run.

Coffee Posse:  (In unison) Okay.

Work BFF:  A)  How everyone is feeling about the upcoming changes.

Coffee Posse:  Uh huh.

Work BFF:  B)  Hot or Not.  Someone throws a name out there and you say if you think they're hot or not.

Coffee Possee:  (Silence.)

(A few seconds pass.)

SSG:  Brad Pitt. 

Coffee Posse:  (In unison with no delay whatsoever.)  HOT.

SSG:  Whoa, guys really?  I had no idea Angelina had so much competition. 

Fantasy Island Friday

After a a long week, a nice deep sleep in this open room at the Four Seasons in Bali sounds like heaven.  Can't you just hear the waves in the background lulling you to sleep?

Make sure to get a lot of rest ...

Because lifting your arm to summon the cabana boy for another cocktail takes EFFORT when done repeatedly.

OMFG Please Kill Me

It is almost 1:30 a.m. on Thursday morning.  

I am supposed to wake up in 3 short hours.  

But instead I am wide awake RIGHT NOW trying to figure out a way to tell my neighbor to turn off the bass on whatever stereotelevisionvideogame he currently has on that is making my brain stem vibrate.  You know, a polite way.  That doesn't involve a blow torch and a pair of pliers.  I'm sure I have a pair in my "Do It Herself Toolkit" for just such an occasion.

And have I mentioned that I don't share any walls with this person?  So whatever it is, it is so LOUD that it's making its way through his walls AND the foot of space that separates us AND into my walls ... and HEAD, which is making me want to go ahead and just get in my car, drive one house over, roll the windows down, crank the stereo and set off my car alarm while parked in his driveway and then be all "what's up?" when he walks out of his house.

NOT THAT HE COULD HEAR ANY OF THAT HAPPENING.

Any suggestions before I watch a few episodes of CSI to figure out how not to get caught if I end up KILLING HIM?

Self Promotion

Yesterday I was sitting at my desk when one of my new coworkers came into my cube for some help with a project he was working on.  We started talking about options for his write up when, randomly, my earring catapulted off my ear.

My hand instinctively reached up to try and catch it.  But I missed.

Out of the HUNDREDS of places it could have landed ... floor, desk, trash, drawer, lap, need I go on?

One guess where it went.

DOWN MAH SHIRT.

Um?  

I quickly assessed my options:

A) Go fishing.

B) Pretend it never happened.

I chose B.

New coworker either didn't notice or was too much of a gentleman to say anything.  After a few minutes he left.  And I got to 2nd base with myself.

And then promptly offered me a promotion.

 

Ohmahgah I'm Going to Quote Cher

Yesterday was poised to be the worst day ever. 

Monday.  Meh.

Snow.  Meh.

SPRING? AHEAD?!  Meh and meh.

SSG had run out of coffee.  (Let SSG tell you, MEH doesn't even begin to cover THAT.)

But SSG WAS NOT having it.  She was done with the meh and the ick and the blah.

The last two ... three ... four weeks have been foggy.  Like I'm here, but I'm not HERE.  I just kind of felt like I was going through the motions.  Distracted.  Cluttered.  Way too serious.  And wanting to feel better.  But none of my old tricks were working.

No amount of Food Network in jammies, magazine reading in bed, writing or chocolate chip cookies were making it better.  

So I just started cleaning.  

I figured if I was going to be meh I might as well have something to show for it.

I took everything out of my closets and drawers.  I vacuumed and dusted.  Washed and ironed.  Bagged up clothes that I no longer wanted and sent them Salvation Army's way.  I scrubbed showers and floors.  Wiped out drawers and cleaned off mirrors.  Changed my bedding and dropped off my taxes.  Pro. Duc. Tive.  Peeps.  

And I was still feeling ... meh.

I was bundling up yesterday morning for my train ride and going through the Monday motions of how I wished it was still the weekend, how desperately I wanted to not spring forward but to fall back, fall back and keep falling back until it was Saturday morning again.  And then I literally stopped mid step.

And told myself ...

SNAP OUT OF IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  

GAH!!!  

I kind of giggled a little.  And reminded myself there are a TON of things that are out of my control right now.  But the things that are in my control?  I'm going to pay attention to and enjoy them for everything they are.  Right now.  Even in the smallest, quietest moments.

Like hearing the wet snow flakes tap against my umbrella.

The warmth of the train and the burst of cool air each time the doors opened.

The feel of cracking open a new library book.

Breaking my routine and going to a different coffee shop.

Smiling and saying 'good morning' to those I don't know.

And really listening to those I do.

It was amazing to feel my shoulders relax, my smile grow bigger when cracking jokes with my work peeps again and maybe, just maybe, SSG is coming back around.

Because guess who made his way over to introduce himself yesterday folks?  None other than Starey Guy.  

Litmus Test

If I ever need to get real with my current mental status, I need look no further than my purse.

Chaotic.

Bursting at the seams.

(Distracted for a moment by cute polka dot notebook!)

Cluttered. 

Stuffed.

Am I the only one this happens to?  What's inside your purse?  Or ahem, man purse (it's European!).

Fantasy Island Friday

One of my favorite things to do when I'm stressed at work is to hop on the Four Seasons website.

You can search for accommodations anywhere in the world and each hotel has a ton of photos of the rooms, landscape and OCEAN VIEWS.

Like this one.

This is in the Maldives.  

I don't even know where the Maldives are, but I WANT TO GO.

Anyone care to join me?

Fear Factor?

Every couple of weeks SSG begins a discussion at work around the following question:  "If you had to be on a reality show, what one would you be on and why?"

The best part is that no one has figured out that SSG hasn't answered this question.  

Because she has no idea of what her answer would be.  

But she can GUARANTEE you it won't be The Bachelor.

Not because of what happened this week.  Not because SHOCKINGLY the engagements don't turn into real life marriages ... except for you Trista and Ryan.  Even though Trista, you had the WORST WEDDING HAIR EVER.  

Sorry.  

I like your hair now though.  

And congratulations on the new baby.  

And your supAH HAWT fireman hubby!  WELL DONE on that guy.  Despite his flagrant abuse of the poetic license.  Hello, Shamu anyone?  Even the orca was cringing. 

Wait, where was I again?

Oh yeah.  

No, SSG wouldn't go on The Bachelor because OHMAHGAH the awkwardness of getting to know each other on those first "dates" being forever emblazoned on film is to SSG like ... well, please just go ahead and pass me the bowl full of African Dung Beetle larvae and I'll knock that back before climbing into a grave full of hungry rats for however many minutes I need to before hopping on top of a car that's about to catch fire 200 feet in the air and tightrope walk while tying a cherry stem with my tongue or whatever else you have to do to win on Fear Factor.

Oh how I don't look forward to the: "Is he going to open my door, uh oh awkward silence, um do you like this outfit because I feel kind of like a hooker/pirate but the lady at Nordstrom thought it was feminine, ohmahgah which is less likely to hang out in my teeth the spinach in the salmon florentine or the parsley in the lamb with chimichuri sauce, and oh yes you probably want to go ahead and TALK to your date instead of LISTENING to the CRAZY in your head all night."

Ultimately when I think about this awkwardness, it all surrounds the potential of situations ...  Do you like me?  Do I like you?  Is there something here?  And the harsh reality that there are going to be a lot of times "no" is the only appropriate answer.

And frankly this alone has been a major issue for SSG.  And I thought that I'd write about that quite a bit this week.  About rejection and getting back on the barstool and there are other vodkas in the lemon drop or however those old adages go.  But I've been surprised I haven't.

It all seems so much less ... scary.

After sitting in the stillness of raw fear and pain so deep I thought I'd rather break instead of feeling it for one more second.  I didn't run away.  As I have walked slowly back through tragedy, taking the time to look and make peace with my life through all of its stages, I have emerged stronger.  Fully aware of who I am and unafraid to have someone (eventually!) know my whole story ... unless GAH future boyfriend if you've been reading this whole time ... 

(Please excuse SSG as she hyperventilates.)

But I can honestly say ... and I'm just as shocked as you.  That I'm looking forward to those moments of smiling a bit too much at each other, awkward transitions, butterflies and the sidelong glances when we think the other person isn't looking.  

The film reel of falling in love.  When you're not even aware it's happening.

When did reality get so good?

Bouncing Back

SSG has very little patience ... perhaps you've noticed?

Right before I started this site last year, I had gone on one big bad dating extravaganza.  MAN how I wish I had been blogging at that time.  Good LAWD some people are ODD.  Like the guy who seemed normal--nice looking, good job, kind and yet somehow felt that having a collection of 1,600 Tiggers (as in Winnie the Pooh Tiggers) was appropriate.

SIXTEEN HUNDRED TIGGERS.

WHAT is a girl supposed to even DO WITH THAT?!

I got frustrated.  I started to wonder if there were anymore good guys out there.  If "compromising" on what I wanted meant I'd have to build an addition onto my house for a collection of stuffed animals and glass figurines.  

I'm a girl and I don't even have those things.

I couldn't even fathom the answer to that question, so I stopped looking.  Subtle changes--hair up in more ponytails, more evenings having friends over instead of going out, less eye contact with men I came across in my daily life.  I figured if it happened, it would "just happen."  

What ended up happening was that I closed myself off.  Not only from the potential of meeting a great guy, but from a part of myself and what I wanted.  What I still want ... and need in my life.  A little romance, some butterflies, a few dates, a good make out session under a downtown street lamp just as it begins to rain ...

Is it getting warm in here?

Recently however, there has been a shift.  I began styling my hair, getting out around town a little more and actually looking up at what (and who!) is around me.  And guess what?  There are a ton of guys around!  Who knew?  

The daily smiles and casual exchanges have made SSG's days a lot more fun.  She has even begun to walk with a flirtatious little ... dare I say BOUNCE in her step.  

Just whatever you do, don't tell Tigger.

Single in the City 101 - An Introduction

Admitting to myself, and all of you lovely readers, that not only is SSG ready for a boyfriend but that she's willing to actually do something to maybe bump into him and you know, spill her guts on this here website about her feelings on whole process brings back two very distinct memories from college.  Both of which have nothing to do with dating; however, get repeated often when I'm around Spleen and Digs (my college roommates for you new peeps).  And um please pause for a moment to dig ON THAT proper usage of the semicolon.  What, what?!  English major in the hizzouse.

Which coincidentally brings me to item numero uno which we affectionately refer to as "space."

Space, a Thesis

For some INSANE reason, I took on an honors program at mah college.  I had to do some extra course work and then finish off my degree with a thesis.  A thesis that I had been "researching" for two years.  And by researching, I mean I picked a topic.  And then I read a bunch of stuff on it.  And then I realized that holy shitballs, I'm actually going to have to write this thing.

So my last semester in college, I stopped working, crammed a bunch of left over courses that I hadn't yet taken (Hello freshman of the 100 level Astronomy LAB!) and set off to write my thesis on "Aspects of Space in the Literature of Women in the Beat Generation."  And by space, SSG doesn't mean outer.  She means physical space like doors and windows, verandas and porches.  And for those of you familiar with Jack Kerouac and Neal Cassady you may be wondering "were there women writers of the Beat Generation?"  And SSG assures you that YES, there were.  Otherwise she wasted a hell of a lot of paper.

So I thought, no problem.  I am ON THIS.  I waited until I felt passionately about something.  I defined what I wanted.  I did my research.  All that was waiting was for me to rock it.  So I started.  Over and over again.  I'd sit in coffee shops with Spleen and Digs, stare at the blank page for 20 minutes and then state strongly in the silence, as if to convince myself that I was on the cusp of genius.  I'd say out loud, only the following phrase: "SPACE."

And then we'd all start cracking up.

But nothing came.

It got less funny.  A larger question loomed. 

What if my preparation didn't matter?  What if what I spent all of this time waiting for, never came?

Are You Laughing at My Shot?

There were two pool tables in the bottom floor of our 11 story dorm.  For a small deposit you could shoot a few games (rounds?) and keep an eye out for the baseball hottie you had a major crush on (and by "you" of course I mean SSG).

SSG plays pool about as well as she plays every other sport.  So um, NOT WELL AT ALL.  I've said it before, and I'll say it again.  I've got about as much athletic prowess as Elton John ... maybe even less.  

So one evening Digs, Spleen and I were downstairs pretending to be sharks (though for the record those two ladies totally are).  I spent a lot of time bending over the table, setting up my shot as if I had some vague idea of what I was doing.  I drew my arm back, thrust it forward and missed the cue ball completely catching myself just in time before face planting onto the table.

Can we say HAWT?  Yes, I believe we can!

Digs and Spleen started cracking up.  To which I cried "are you laughing at my shot?!"  They looked up from some story they had been telling each other and said "what are you talking about?"

SSG:  I know you're laughing at me!  How did you not just see that?

Digs & Spleen:  WHAT are you talking about?!  We weren't even watching you!

***

And that's exactly how I'd describe the early stages of BW09.  It is so difficult to remember that there is no distinct time line.  And that no matter how conspicuous I feel now that I've made this shift, the world really isn't watching my every move.

The thesis did eventually come.  My pool game on the other hand?  Still very much waiting for that to make an appearance.

Pop Quiz

Why is SSG still single?

A)  She hasn't met the right guy.

B)  She's not sure if she wants to get married and have kids.

C)  Her parents got divorced after 25 years of marriage confessing they never loved each other.  After which her mother dated a slew of alcoholics (recovering and uh ... not recovering) and proceeded to kick SSG out of the house at the age of 15.

D)  She is happy as a single girl.

E)  All of the above.

"Why are you still single?"  A question I hear more often than I care to admit.  It has been said lovingly, by a new beau.  Flatteringly, by close friends and family.  Questioningly, by Rock Star Therapist.  And fiercely by a few, as if they'd be PERFECTLY happy to go ahead and list ALL of the reasons.

The real answer?  

E.  All of the above.

If you were to look at those answers as percentages, which SSG will do because she is an analyst (allegedly) by day, they change.  Sometimes it's 90% A, 2% B, 3% C and 5% D.  Sometimes it's 75% D ... and well, you get the picture.  But the truth is, they're all there.  

The difference?

Context.

A)  Said flirtatiously to a cutie over cocktails.

B)  Said to close friends, while curled up on the couch in pajamas ... also over cocktails.

C)  Said to her therapist.  Sans cocktails.  (Damn it.)

D)  Said to herself.

E)  The truth ... said to the interwebs.

The Right Guy

It used to be, that younger SSG would be out with her friends where they'd meet a group of guys.  SSG would pick the one she thought was the cutest, could make her laugh and (hopefully!) drove a stick shift.  They'd date for a couple of months until he did enough stuff to annoy her, or she did enough stuff to annoy him.

OH IF IT WERE STILL THAT EASY.  And if tastes didn't, you know.  CHANGE.  We'd be in good shape, folks.  

But things have changed.  SSG most of all.

I could break down a laundry list of things I like--confidence and humor and maybe certain looks or outfits and jobs and hobbies and how he would handle things with me and in his life.  And I suppose all of that rolls into who a person is.  But if I'm being honest, what I really want is pretty simple.  

• I want to genuinely love the guy for who he is.  
• And I also want to jump him.  
• Repeatedly.  
• And I want him to feel the exact same way about me.

She's Not Sure if She Wants to Get Married and Have Kids

If you would have asked me ten years ago or last year, my answer would have been the same.  The end goal was to get married and have kids.  I couldn't envision a complete life without those two factors.  Without my own little family.

This is something that has slowly shifted over the past year.  It's not completely off the table, but I am entertaining the idea that marriage and kids MIGHT not be in my future.  

This freaked me out for a little while.  I wasn't willing to "give up" or "settle" or "admit failure" or the host of other emotions I went through when I merely asked myself the question "what would your life look like without marriage and children?"  

I don't know the answer to that yet.  But I will tell you this, family or no family, SSG will still pretty much rock this thing.

Her Parents

GAH.  It always comes back to blaming the parents, doesn't it?  (One check in the "Don't Have Kids" column, you bring them into this world and then they resent you for it.)

I know my parents didn't intend to create the marriage and family they ultimately did.  But I'd be lying if I said how they raised me and how they treated each other doesn't have an effect on my feelings toward relationships and marriage in general.

Everyone in my family has been divorced, many never remarried.

I knew from a very early age that I wanted something different.  I've worked hard to become the type of person that is honest with her feelings and able to express them.  One would hope that I'm able to do it constructively.  But I do worry that I won't know how to make something work and last.  How to be a good wife ... not only for my husband's sake but for my own.  

I have no idea if it's possible for a couple to fall deeper in love as time goes on.  But I like to believe that it is.

She is Happy as a Single Girl

I feel very fortunate with my life.  I've somehow survived a host of things I shouldn't have.  And I feel incredibly lucky, nee SERENDIPITOUS, to have my little place in the world.  I almost feel like I'm tempting fate to say that I want more.  So I try to make my life as good as I can possibly make it with what I currently have.  And for the most part, if it were to end tomorrow (which let's hope it doesn't), I'd look back and say ... 

MAN that was ROUGH.  

Just kidding, I'd be proud.

But I wouldn't be the SSG if I didn't want more!  And I wouldn't be the SSG if I wasn't honest about wanting more!

And I do want more.  I'd love to have someone in my life and for me to be the someone in their life.

So there, I said it.  SSG wants a boyfriend.  

Ohmahgah!

LAWD help him.

Boyfriend Watch 2009

This afternoon I'll be heading out to Round Two of "Boyfriend Watch 2009."  Wish us luck!  Any suggestions on WHAT I SHOULD WEAR?

GAH!  Yesterday I was doing my "seasonal" closet cleaning (though some could argue I skipped the last few seasons) and I'm not sure if I CAN'T STAND all of my clothes or if I see POTENTIAL in everything with just the right accessories.  Coincidentally not completely unlike the boyfriend search.

Anyhoo!  A preview on what's to come this week on SSG:

I'm going to write about my thoughts on being a single girl ALL WEEK peeps!  It's not something I talk too much about unless it's a joking reference to one of my fireman boyfriends ... or actor boyfriends ... or baseball playing boyfriends.  I started compiling a blog post and realized SSG has A LOT to say on the topic.  Who knew?

You may begin cheering (or cringing) now!  And don't worry, SSG is doing both ; )  

Hope you're having fabulous weekends!

xo,