About Kristin

Recent transplant to the Northwest. I didn't escape the sadness.

Another awkward blog about my relationship troubles…

When did I become the Cathy of Sad Sigh? And is Cathy even a relevant comparison anymore? Didn’t even SHE get married? Should I have said Bridget Jones? Or is THAT too outdated too. Oof. See? I’m even awkward about writing about relationships.

At the beginning of 2008, I made a deal with myself that I would put myself “out there” more (read: internet dating). Turns out, “out there” is a scary, scary place, full of insecure boys and terrifying facial hair. I have officially closed the Internet Dating Experiment because, in the end, this is what I got:

1. One relationship with a dude who told me he was interested in polygamy.

2. Three dates with someone who got progressively more insane as the evenings wore by, getting horrifically drunk on our last date and professing that he loved me. LOVED me. After a week and a half of knowing me.

3. A failed relationship with someone whose parting shot at me was that I was too smart to be dateable and who may or may not have had a small heart attack while we were having sex.

Sigh.

On top of which, I now have 4 weddings to attend in the latter half of 2009, and no one to attend with me, nor am I likely to meet anyone in Seattle, haven for the aggressively shy indie boy, a male type that drives me completely batty (except when this type comes in the form of the older brother of a high school chum, who I delight in flirting with as much as possible to make him feel uncomfortable). Another high school friend is engaged, and I seem to be the only person left from high school not in any sort of serious relationship. And, in the end, this blog is about making my high school friends feel extremely awkward with me oversharing, so I’m going to admit something on this blog that I would never, ever admit in person.

I AM AFRAID OF DYING ALONE.

The Work-A-Day World

Let me walk you through my routine at work as I believe everyone can agree it’s pretty Sad Sigh worthy.

I get in to my office and unlock my door. It’s true, I have my very own office with a door, and yet it doubles as a storage closet and so I have to essentially stumble over boxes in order to get to my desk. Once I sit down, I take a good, long look at my inbox and decide of anything needs my immediate attention. Usually, there is something. This morning, for example, I arrived to see that a co-worker had forwarded me an email he had initially sent the copywriter without realizing she was on vacation. Of course, it needs my immediate (emphasis his) attention. It involves “coming up with a clever title” for a trip to Romania and an intro paragraph telling travelers what they can expect from the trip (I am tempted to write something along the lines of “Enjoy tourist cheesiness like you’ve never seen before at Dracula’s Castle and thrill to the discovery of the loss of your petty cash as gypsies pick your pockets in other parts of Transylvania”). I don’t know why he can’t do this himself as I have never been to Romania and he has been multiple times.

So, I start thinking about that when 8 emails from my boss arrive, each with 1 individual website update, mostly small, all entirely unnecessary, and ALL flagged with the “IMPORTANT!!” flag. So I work on those for awhile, go back and write an intro paragraph and then I spend the rest of my day in one of two ways. Either I a) am ferrying myself around the office fixing stupid tech things that actually have very little to do with tech support and a lot to do with plain, annoying ignorance (“How do I empty my email?” “Why isn’t this Excel formula working?” “How come my iPod isn’t syncing up with iTunes”) or b) I give up and spend the rest of the day reading Go Fug Yourself praying for Bai Ling to make my day worthwhile and tell everyone I’m “working on projects” and stop answering my email.

When the clock finally runs out, I get home, I check Craig’s List, I discover there are no well paying jobs in New York I am qualified for, and then I cry myself to sleep because I have done nothing – literally, nothing – for my job that qualifies as actual progress toward any attainable goal. Whenever I try to push a project forward, I end up exchanging emails with my boss all day as to why a new website is necessary or why we really should not have our servers in an unventilated, tiny room where they have previously melted some of the wiring. Then she stops replying and two weeks later when I ask her if I can move forward with the project, the cycle repeats itself.

True story.

SMRT

Sigh.

Another relationship down the toilet.

And why?  Did I display an appalling act of drunkenness that sent my mature, older boyfriend running for the hills?  Did I cheat with an 18 year old?  Did I go on and on and on about how awesome New York City is and how I am trying to move there as soon as possible causing him to bash me over the head out of complete boredom for a topic I have talked about non-stop for years?

All of these things are possible and well within the scope of things I have done in past relationships.  And yet this time I did none of them.

No.  Instead, I received the following email after not hearing from my boyfriend for a week by way of kiss-off:

Honestly -
You are likely the smartest person I’ve ever dated. At least, if there were smarter, it wasn’t apparent.

I learned true ambivalence each time we got deep into a subject; enthralled at being able to have such a discussion, scared that I would never be able to hold my own in it.

That’s the truth. And yes, it is my own ego causing this problem within me. But you deserve to know.

So apparently I am un-dateable because I am too smart.  If anyone would like to let me know where I can get a cheap lobotomy, come find me.  I’ll be the nerd in the corner discussing the merits of Boethian philosophy as applied to post-modern theory.  Or the person sticking an ice-pick up her nose.

Oh, San Jose. What chaos you have wrought in my life!


I am the Scottish flag in the conversation below:

This is a phenomenon I was discussing with Gracie yesterday, and then it came up in conversation with my coworker. Not only did San Jose saddle me to the most boring adolescence this side of Amish country, but it also saddled me to a life of always knowing more than everyone else about computers EVEN THOUGH I HAVE TWO DEGREES IN LITERATURE. This is a conversation with my co-worker, Anne, who is the exact same age as I am. There is no reason why I know these things and she doesn’t…EXCEPT SAN JOSE. That’s all I can think of that makes us different since I certainly didn’t learn this shit at Sarah Lawrence. I grew up in the fucking Silicon Valley with nerds at high school who built their own computers and she grew up in Alaska and now I am doomed to be the default tech support person at every job I ever have that doesn’t keep an actual IT person on staff.

Well, I say NO MORE. After I am done at this job, I will be moving to a new one where I play dumb. I will not try to be helpful in the least, I will just shake my head sadly and pound on the keyboard and pretend I do not know how to insert a picture into Word (!!! Seriously, my boss asked me to do this for her yesterday).

Financial Crisis!

Last night I actually kissed a piece of mail for the first time.

I got my check for my 2nd job.  It was 5 days late.  I kissed it because I had been freaking out all week.  I don’t get paid until next Wednesday and I had $30 in my bank account and no food.  There was going to be A LOT of ramen and mac and cheese going on over the weekend.

But then!  The check!  It showed up!  I kissed it!

It was for $100.  Yes, $100 will get me that excited.  Sigh.  All of this makes me think I should just go into the venerable practice of whoring.  Because, you know, there are perks to being all cash money all the time.

Like my body?