Charming, but single

The last few days have been pretty hectic. I have this backlog of things to do at work — they gave me a list of things to do before I even started the job, and I’ve barely made a dent in it. I’m confident that I’m doing a good job, I just don’t quite have a handle on things the way I want to. Yet.

I am the world’s most impatient person. Part of it has to do with the abundance of confidence I have in myself publicly. Privately, I may have second thoughts and concerns and whatnot, but publicly I put a brave face forward and act like I know what I’m doing at all times. Even when I’m totally lost, swimming in acronym stew and drowning in paperwork. That’s just how I am.

Last night (Wednesday), we did martini night. This time it was just girls, which was fun and bit more relaxed. I do genuinely TRY to be my charming self around everyone I meet. However, I know people far more genuine than I who can’t pull that off. Mixed-gender conversations tend to be a touch filtered and censored. So, I didn’t mind not having the guys around. Work, gossip and sex (and gossip about sex) were the main topics. Slightly shallow at times, but we all spend most of our days in classes or cubicles talking, writing and thinking about serious and, at times, unfun and difficult things. A little girlie talk is about all I can muster after eight hours of meetings and e-mails and to do lists and whatnot.

Tomorrow I get my first new job paycheck, which will be nice. I agreed to work at the store all day Saturday, which I’m sure I’ll regret Saturday morning, but appreciate at about 7 p.m. that evening when I walk with some cash.

Saturday, I’m hoping to get back into my fun social life — I used to be crazy and busy and fun and energetic on the weekends, but now I’m old and tired and boring.

How ironic that when I was broke and working a crappy job, I was constantly out with friends and now that I’m in a cool job making much better money, my social life is sucking. (Things will get better, I swear. Otherwise I might have to change the blog name to “Boring, but single : a journal in sleeping and eating unhealthy food.”)

Next week, I plan to commit myself to my New Year’s Resolution, which was to work out AT LEAST three times a week. (That lasted about two weeks, tops. But seriously, why have a gym membership if I’m never going to go the gym?) I’m not usually one for resolutions, but I generally feel better both physically and emotionally when I work out regularly, even if only for 45 minutes a day. In the perfect world, I’d do cardio Monday and Wednesday and weights Tuesday and Thursday, capped off with a relaxing yoga on Sunday, but that might be pushing it. (Plus, I stopped doing weights months ago, so I’d have to meet with my trainer to get a new workout. My trainer is great — she’s a normal-sized woman who is more concerned with wellness and fitness than numbers and such — but she won’t take the excuses I’ve been peddling recently. )

Man, five days a week of working out is going to severely piss me off. I hate myself already.

You heard it here first — next week: still single and charming, but with at least a triple dose of bitchy!

This year was good. Typically, I’m single on Valentine’s Day and I fall into one of two single girl V-Day patterns.

• Drunken anger at the world and all men, regardless of who they are.
  
• Pitiful, “I am single! I am awesome! I NEED NO MEN! EVER! Really. I am TOTALLY OKAY BEING ALONE!” celebrations where I pretend not to be bitter.
  

Both of these situations suck. They’re both so cliche. Now, that doesn’t mean that I never act out of either emotion — I do, all of the time, but usually not on such a grand level as Valentine’s Day. But for years I, and numerous other singles, have exhausted so much energy hating the idea of Valentine’s Day or trying too hard to act like we don’t care. (Methinks thou doth protest too much, dears.)

This year, I made no plans. I got a few annoying text messages from single girlfriends about the horror of the day, but I didn’t respond to any of them. I had a piece of the candy my daddy always sends me and read the card my grandparents always give me (complete with a crisp $5 bill) and went to work, where I plugged in my headphones and, well, worked.

About mid-day I got a text from a girlfriend that was simple. “Single and fabulous girls only dinner tonight. Sushi. 6 p.m.”

We had a blast. There were a few jokes about our married/attached friends and that was that. Then we had a normal dinner like the normal adult women we all are for the other 364 days out of the year. We talked about our jobs and our families and our lives. Though we never actually acknowledged it, male-bashing was pretty much forbidden.

It was refreshing. I’ve spent so much time being unhappy because my life didn’t fit the Hallmark ideal of Valentine’s Day. It was nice to just have fun and enjoy my friends’ company in a stress-free situation.

I barhopped around to have a beer with some other groups of friends after dinner, but headed home early when the women started talking about how their exboyfriends should all be castrated. I was in too good of a mood to let some halfwit dredge up old anger about past wrongs. (I’m halfwitted enough to do that on my own. Just wait until tomorrow.)

It’s a lesson I’ll soon forget the next time a guy doesn’t call or says something insensitive or insulting. But for now, I feel, well, happy to have such great, charming (and yes) single friends.

Sometimes I can’t string thoughts together is a cohesive way. Tonight is one of those times, when only lists will do.

Things I am obsessed with:

• Orbit sugarfree whitening gum — Seriously, I went through at least three packs last week alone. Perhaps this obsession is due to the fact that I’ve cut my smoking back by much more than half. At this rate, my teeth with be sparkling white by the end of the month.
• Meeting new guys — I think I’ve exhausted the supply of men in my social circle. Must make plans to step out of comfort zone.
• Finding a new black everyday purse
• Finding a new apartment
• Making sure I drag myself back to the gym, as have lost sight of the New Year’s Resolution to work out at least three times a week
• Saving up for an iPod
  

Things that make me happy:

• My new workout mix CD, featuring The Killers, Gwen Stefani, The Donnas, Missy, Kayne West and Keane
• “Flame Turns Blue” by David Gray
• Cooking
• Hour-long conversations with my best friend from high school
• Realizing that I’m not the only one flailing around clueless about dating
• Freshly washed sheets on laundry day
• My impending weekend shopping spree

Things that drive me crazy:

• Friends who ask for your opinion on something, but then belittle your response
• Friends who expect you to listen to them whine and moan about their boy problems for months and months and months , but refuse to listen to you vent for even a second. (Hey, I’ll admit that I have a bit of a one-track mind sometimes, but don’t snap at me for talking about something a guy did last week if you’re still whining about something as meaningless that happened to you two years ago.)
• People who talk in the movie theatre during the feature. It is not necessary to comment on everything on the screen, especially if your comments fall into the category of “You go, girl!” or “Girl, you know I wouldn’t let a guy treat me like that. NOT. AT. ALL.” (Annoying girl who sat behind me during “Hitch,” I am looking at you. )

I feel better now.

So, after working a few hours at the store where I used to work (they needed help and I didn’t want to pass up easy, on-the-spot, off-the-books money), I phoned a friend to see what her evening plans were. It was a bit after 7 p.m. and I was dusty and dirty feeling from the store. She was planning to go get a drink and then maybe head to a party (that, annoyingly, I hadn’t been informed of until just then), so I told her I’d call her after dinner and a shower.

So I dined and washed up and she told me she’d call me back with firm plans about the night. This was 9 p.m., so I figured I had plenty of time to get ready. I played with my hair, straightening the front and velcro-rolling the back for volume. I fiddled with my clothes, putting together a cutish casual outfit that gave me an excuse to wear this adorable lavender tank under a denim blazer. I took my time with my make-up, plucked my eyebrows, played with different accessories and shoes. (I never allow myself enough time to get ready, so the fact that I had time to play with make-up and shoes was a big deal.) I packed my going-out clutch, and as I walked out of my room I noticed the time — 10:30 p.m. Ten-thirty! I took an hour and a half to get ready!

So, I freaked out … I figured my friends, who normally depart for social events around 10 p.m. had tried to call me and let me know where I was (late) to meet them. I checked my cell — no calls. I checked my voicemail — no messages. No texts. Nothing.

Confused, I called my friend, who was asleep. At 10:40 p.m. She apologized for not calling me, said she had decided to stay in and gave me some vague directions to the party. I tried to guilt her into going with me, but she was having none of it.

I got off of the phone and made a round of phone calls with no avail. B’s roommate has a new girlfriend, so they were leaving a restaurant to go home and have sex. And B, I was told, was having a boy’s night once he got off of work. My closest girlfriend had gone home for the weekend, another girlfriend of mine is taking about two semesters worth of school in one to try to graduate, so she was hitting the books. All of my other girlfriends have moved out of town or gotten married. The guys who would have more specific information about the party have been giving me the cold shoulder for any number of reasons, so I couldn’t call them.

There I was, dressed to kill, with meticulously applied make-up, shaped brows, a well-styled outfit, bouncy, voluminous hair and no plans of which to speak. All that prep for no payoff. I was pissed, but I managed to put my cell phone down and avoid calling either of the boys who are currently ignoring me (either consciously or not). I ended up watching Saturday Night Live while eating cheesecake and moisturizing my face.

Next week, I’m making plans in advance.

I started the new job this week, hence the lack of updates. I’m not quite used to waking up at 6 a.m. every morning, especially given that I almost always stay awake until at least 1 a.m. So, by the time I fight traffic and get home — hopefully before 6 p.m., I am beat. Totally worn out. In need of a nap.

Being a grown-up sucks.

I still did drinks per our regular arrangement on Wednesday. (I say drinks because everyone else had several. I had one and left by 11 p.m.) It was a small crowd, but we had a good time.

I like the job. There’s a pretty steep learning curve, but I’m keeping up so far. I freaking hate acronyms, though. I need an interpreter to have a conversation with some people, because they speak more in letters than in actual words. I swear, I have to go to a conference in a few weeks and I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THE SUBJECT MATTER IS. At all. All I have is the acronym and date. I told my boss that I had some questions about it and he said we’d address them next week. Hmmmph. (And yes, I did google the damn thing. No luck!)

Luckily one of my good friends from college works with me, so we’ve been lunching and e-mailing and gossiping. She was supposed to give me a run-down of cute single guys, but there are none. Really. I saw a few guys my age down the hall in another section cubes, but I’ll never have a reason to go down there and investigate. (Unless I become addicted to junk food, as the snack machine is on the other side of the never-ending swath of cubes. Too bad I have cut candy out of my life. It was a toxic relationship — I relied on candy and candy loved that I indulged in it, but the joy was short-lived and it always left me with more problems than good times in the end. Sigh.)

Last night I hung out with some friends, but we really didn’t do much. They’re swamped with school-related things and I’m boring because I’m still not used to my job.

Again, being a grown-up sucks.

Will probably go out and do something low-key and inexpensive. Next week I get my first adult-sized paycheck (albeit only for a week) and I can promise that Saturday night will be booze-soaked and brilliant. (Maybe not so much brilliant, but I liked the alliteration.)

I promise I’ll do something stupid or drink too much and get philosophical or make-out with a boy or SOMETHING blogworthy during the next few days. I don’t want to become “Charming, but a workaholic.”