This week in work has been weird, because I only have two co-workers (or, shall I say, one boss and one co-worker) to begin with, and the non-boss has been out all week with a very sick daughter. So on Wednesday, boss and I were sitting in the back having lunch together, when the flower delivery man came. Apparently, Lui googled the choir, then googled our zip code and "florist" so he could send me flowers for no reason whatsoever. The card read, "How's this for international romance?" Pretty good, actually, I have to admit. And although he didn't know it when he ordered the arrangment, the vase actually has a pumpkin on it. (Lui's pet name is Pumpkin.)
I don't know how to describe the feeling - it's not butterflies, because we're way past that stage, but it's definitely something. Sort of embarrassment, mixed with "awwww", mixed with a sense of comfort, belonging, and right-ness. Like, "Yeah, you should send me flowers from overseas while I'm at work. Well done for knowing that yourself."
That night was the Tom Petty concert, with Beck opening and Stevie Nicks surprise-guesting. I was on my way down there with Pigeon and some of her friends, when it suddenly occurred to me that it was time to stop being a wuss, call Piano Man, and demand my stuff back. So I did. I was nice, friendly, a little flirty (not sexual flirty, but office flirty, with a smile in my voice); he was civil, blatantly uncomfortable, but trying to play it cool, blowing smoke into the phone.
"So, we should meet up sometime and get me my stuff back," I said.
"Yeah... There's still a lot of stuff in boxes, that's why I didn't get it to you sooner." Boxes? Last year it was "still at his mom's house". Why would it suddenly be in boxes in the house he shares with his wife?
"I sent you that story you wanted, but I don't know whether you got it or not?"
"I don't know."
At which point, I'm thinking, you don't know? Either you got it or you didn't, dumbass.
"I don't know," he said again. "I'll get you your stuff back."
"Okay. [Mutual friend] offered to play delivery boy, if you want to give it to him and he can bring it to me?"
"No... I'll bring it by your house."
"While I'm there? Or while I'm definitely not there?" I mean, do you want to see me or not?
"I'll put it in the mailbox or something."
It wasn't until after I hung up that I realized, he's probably still pissed at me. And rightly so, but I have more right to be pissed at him, and I'm being friendly. This way, he's just gonna make it so it's still awkward when we eventually run into each other at a coffee shop or something.
Pigeon pointed out that now he doesn't really have to give it back - he can say he put it in the mailbox and that it must've gotten lost. So I'm going to try to get ahold of [mutual friend] anyway. And I've decided that I don't have it by next Wednesday, I'm going to make threats. I want this done and over with before Lui gets here, and if I have to cut my losses and give up on getting my stuff back (but we're talking about my final project from college, and I want it!), I will. But not without getting some revenge.
Jeez. Lui and Piano Man. It's like two totally seperate worlds.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Sunday, September 17, 2006
But Jesus drank wine!
So I just got back from my best friend's Mormon baptism.
I'm really not sure how I feel about this. From a purely selfish point of view, I'm losing my favorite drinking buddy. In fact, that's pretty much how I feel about this.
The Mormon church is... different. The service included a few lessons about the religion, even though all but five of us present were already Mormon. People got up to give testimonies, all of which included "I know this church is the truth". Almost everyone cried, which was convenient because when [friend]'s Unitarian mom put her arm around me after the dunking and said, "I just keep picturing her on stage in a garter belt", we both broke down. Just as long as no one knew why we were crying, we fit right in. Admittedly, losing one's daughter trumps losing one's drinking buddy, but still.
I wonder a little, because [friend] is a bit of a serial monogamist, and this isn't the first time she's altered some part of herself to fit better with the boyfriend of the year. But before it was always little things, like when she was dating a boring guy and became boring - she never changed her religion before. I mean, what happens if they break up? But she thinks this guy is "the one", and she was unhappy with her own religion; I guess the natural progression is to look to a significant other's beliefs, right?
At the hors d'oeuvres reception after, my mom and I were kinda cornered by the missionaries. My mom fared better with that than I did: I always assume people are trying to convert me. But these two girls were nice, and in the end, I learned (via Mom) a lot more about the religion. Apparently I had stumped them by my protest (relayed by [friend]) of, "But Jesus drank wine!", but alas, the Wild Vines is still a no-go. As I was saying my goodbyes to [friend], she gave me a hug and said, "Thanks so much for coming," then added, "Sorry."
That, I think, is unfair. No, I do not understand why one would choose to become a Mormon. Yes, I do think the whole church is pretty bizarre. Yes, I will continue to make fun of it. And yes, I think [friend]'s mom and I will have a bond now that we've experienced this, dare I say suffering, together. But on the other hand, if she's happy and has found a place for herself, who am I to say anything about it? She's still herself; I've seen that since I came home and she told me she was converting. And she's my friend, and I'm going to support her in whatever, however much I might cry at the thought of that garter belt.
I'm really not sure how I feel about this. From a purely selfish point of view, I'm losing my favorite drinking buddy. In fact, that's pretty much how I feel about this.
The Mormon church is... different. The service included a few lessons about the religion, even though all but five of us present were already Mormon. People got up to give testimonies, all of which included "I know this church is the truth". Almost everyone cried, which was convenient because when [friend]'s Unitarian mom put her arm around me after the dunking and said, "I just keep picturing her on stage in a garter belt", we both broke down. Just as long as no one knew why we were crying, we fit right in. Admittedly, losing one's daughter trumps losing one's drinking buddy, but still.
I wonder a little, because [friend] is a bit of a serial monogamist, and this isn't the first time she's altered some part of herself to fit better with the boyfriend of the year. But before it was always little things, like when she was dating a boring guy and became boring - she never changed her religion before. I mean, what happens if they break up? But she thinks this guy is "the one", and she was unhappy with her own religion; I guess the natural progression is to look to a significant other's beliefs, right?
At the hors d'oeuvres reception after, my mom and I were kinda cornered by the missionaries. My mom fared better with that than I did: I always assume people are trying to convert me. But these two girls were nice, and in the end, I learned (via Mom) a lot more about the religion. Apparently I had stumped them by my protest (relayed by [friend]) of, "But Jesus drank wine!", but alas, the Wild Vines is still a no-go. As I was saying my goodbyes to [friend], she gave me a hug and said, "Thanks so much for coming," then added, "Sorry."
That, I think, is unfair. No, I do not understand why one would choose to become a Mormon. Yes, I do think the whole church is pretty bizarre. Yes, I will continue to make fun of it. And yes, I think [friend]'s mom and I will have a bond now that we've experienced this, dare I say suffering, together. But on the other hand, if she's happy and has found a place for herself, who am I to say anything about it? She's still herself; I've seen that since I came home and she told me she was converting. And she's my friend, and I'm going to support her in whatever, however much I might cry at the thought of that garter belt.
Monday, September 11, 2006
Turmoil
Lately, it just seems like everything in my life is questionable, like there's no part of it I'm totally secure with right now. It's a very uncomfortable feeling. Here's the breakdown:
Love/Relationships: Being apart from Lui is a lot harder than I expected it to be. Not because I miss him too much, but because I feel like I don't miss him enough. It's been really easy to get back into the single mindset, and flirt with everyone I encounter. Which is fun - I always did like flirting, and it's nice to be back in an environment where I'm comfortable doing it. But I feel guilty for enjoying the flirtacious conversations (last night I spent over an hour on the phone with What-If Guy) more than I enjoy talking to Lui lately. Probably because he comes across as this needy little child, always needing reassurance that I still love him and miss him, and giving that reassurance doesn't come as easily as it probably should. I'm sure it'll be better once he gets here (a problem in and of itself, thanks to the tightness of our borders and his needing minor surgery that might set back his arrival date), but for now... I'm tempted to call Piano Man and tell him I finally get it, what he was doing, how easy it is to continue loving one person while constantly becoming infatuated with others. I did say tempted - but then I know he won't answer my call.
Work: The other day, after being faced with the hopelessness of the immigration system and suddenly thinking that maybe this whole marriage is more trouble than it's worth (did I mention that I went so far as to ask Lui if he wanted to call it off?), this thought suddenly hit me full force: am I a writer or a secretary? Well, right now, I'm a secretary, and to what end? This is not my career. I know I said it made sense to do this for a year while we figure out where we want to settle, but why am I wasting my time as a glorified PA? My job is stressful, it's frustrating, it's not actually the mindless copying-and-collating work I was hoping for. And my boss is definitely not James Spader.
One of my dad's friends from church is the director of a local news station. So I went down there the other day, took the tour, asked about broadcast writing, filled out an application with the knowledge that I need some serious training before I could really work in that field... Before I left, my dad's friend told me about himself as a young journalism graduate, and how he didn't care what he did - tv, radio, publications - or what he made, as long as it was in journalism. "Find what excites you," he told me. "And if this isn't it, find what it is, and do that." It wasn't until the next day that I realized I'm just like he was: I don't care what I do, or what I make, as long as I'm writing. And taking a letter doesn't count.
Self: I don't know what it is, but suddenly my nose seems big again, in a way that it hasn't since high school. I hate pictures of myself. I'm unhappy with what I see in the mirror. It probably started with that day out with all my beautiful, put-together friends, but now every time I see a pretty girl, it's like it reinforces my own physical shortcomings.
Friends: I love my friends. There's nothing wrong with them, except I feel like I can't talk to them about any of this. They won't understand why I can't leave my job to look for a better one. They'll either think I'm crazy for questioning my relationship with Lui, or they'll see my questioning as the simple end of it - and nowhere in there will they know what to tell me regarding how to feel better and stop questioning. And, friends being what they are, they will never concede that my nose is too big, or that this-or-that high school girl is prettier than I am; I wouldn't want them to.
Love/Relationships: Being apart from Lui is a lot harder than I expected it to be. Not because I miss him too much, but because I feel like I don't miss him enough. It's been really easy to get back into the single mindset, and flirt with everyone I encounter. Which is fun - I always did like flirting, and it's nice to be back in an environment where I'm comfortable doing it. But I feel guilty for enjoying the flirtacious conversations (last night I spent over an hour on the phone with What-If Guy) more than I enjoy talking to Lui lately. Probably because he comes across as this needy little child, always needing reassurance that I still love him and miss him, and giving that reassurance doesn't come as easily as it probably should. I'm sure it'll be better once he gets here (a problem in and of itself, thanks to the tightness of our borders and his needing minor surgery that might set back his arrival date), but for now... I'm tempted to call Piano Man and tell him I finally get it, what he was doing, how easy it is to continue loving one person while constantly becoming infatuated with others. I did say tempted - but then I know he won't answer my call.
Work: The other day, after being faced with the hopelessness of the immigration system and suddenly thinking that maybe this whole marriage is more trouble than it's worth (did I mention that I went so far as to ask Lui if he wanted to call it off?), this thought suddenly hit me full force: am I a writer or a secretary? Well, right now, I'm a secretary, and to what end? This is not my career. I know I said it made sense to do this for a year while we figure out where we want to settle, but why am I wasting my time as a glorified PA? My job is stressful, it's frustrating, it's not actually the mindless copying-and-collating work I was hoping for. And my boss is definitely not James Spader.
One of my dad's friends from church is the director of a local news station. So I went down there the other day, took the tour, asked about broadcast writing, filled out an application with the knowledge that I need some serious training before I could really work in that field... Before I left, my dad's friend told me about himself as a young journalism graduate, and how he didn't care what he did - tv, radio, publications - or what he made, as long as it was in journalism. "Find what excites you," he told me. "And if this isn't it, find what it is, and do that." It wasn't until the next day that I realized I'm just like he was: I don't care what I do, or what I make, as long as I'm writing. And taking a letter doesn't count.
Self: I don't know what it is, but suddenly my nose seems big again, in a way that it hasn't since high school. I hate pictures of myself. I'm unhappy with what I see in the mirror. It probably started with that day out with all my beautiful, put-together friends, but now every time I see a pretty girl, it's like it reinforces my own physical shortcomings.
Friends: I love my friends. There's nothing wrong with them, except I feel like I can't talk to them about any of this. They won't understand why I can't leave my job to look for a better one. They'll either think I'm crazy for questioning my relationship with Lui, or they'll see my questioning as the simple end of it - and nowhere in there will they know what to tell me regarding how to feel better and stop questioning. And, friends being what they are, they will never concede that my nose is too big, or that this-or-that high school girl is prettier than I am; I wouldn't want them to.
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