the cookie incident

There are a certain number of truths I carry around with me in life to help me maintain my sense of equilibrium in this crazy world - the kind of comforts I can lay my head on at night.  Things like 'the Kardashians are mostly made of plastic', 'chocolate is good', 'baby pink does not suit my colouring' and 'you can never have too many pairs of earrings', so on and so forth.

FACT: I can cook a kick-ass choc-chip and pecan nut cookie. Anyone who tries aforementioned cookie, loves it, and me - by way of the heart route via stomach phenomenon.  I could hang my hat on that certainty.

I recently had my first year anniversary at my not-so-new job. Baking seemed appropriate, it seemed like the kind of thing Jesus might do if he had earned his one year badge with an employer. I went to the recipe - I carefully, perhaps even lovingly sifted, chopped, weighed, measured, mixed, spooned, baked and packed, to perfection, said kick-ass choc-chip and pecan nut cookies. This morning I took them in; I even hand wrote a kooky-yet-charming sign inviting my co-workers to partake in the cookie eating.  I didn't expect a fanfare, I just wanted to say, you know "thanks" (read: "thanks, for not being complete assholes all of the time") and perhaps hope they would enjoy them as much as every other human who has ever encountered them before.

Tasting got off to a VERY slow start.  None of this pre-10am business.  "Pussies" I thought. Pfft - I had one at 7.25am. My boss finally tried one, and seemingly loved it, reaction was baseline kick-ass cookie - grateful and kind. Someone else tried one, after I suggested it a couple of times, said nothing - may as well have been eating dirt I guess. Someone else tried one, told me I did "well" (like - what the fuck?) and kept moving on. Someone else gave them a go on her lunch-break and also indicated her enjoyment, even went back for a second in quick succession. By the end of the day, there was one lonely cookie left. As I walked out the door, picking up my box with it's single lonely kick-ass cookie, I asked my old supervisor, knowing she hadn't tried one yet, if she wanted it, "No thanks" she said. Then, I turned to the only dude that works in my department and asked if he would have the last one. "No thanks, I already had one". "Fuck you" I said (in my head). I'm not a pretty face, by no means can I sway and seduce with any form of charm or charisma - but no man - no man has ever declined my fucking cookie before.  It hurt. It hurt real bad.

Maybe I expected too much. My previous bunch of coworkers loved the absolute shit out of these cookies.  I'd get baking requests, recipe sharing requests.  The damn container was always empty at the end of the day, and if there happened to be one morsel left out of politeness, I wouldn't have to ask more than once before a taker or two quickly appeared.

Had I lost my baking prowess?

Had my faithful recipe betrayed me?

Had I asked too much of the great cookie Gods?

I've been trying really hard not to hate the people I work with. (It's really challenging some days). I've had some frustrating setbacks, and experiences this past year and I've just been wanting to accept, and carry on like the good soldier I can be. Sometimes there are tears, sometimes there is sniping and there is always swearing - but Jesus, I try! And I made these people my prize fucking cookies!

I smoldered on the drive home. What is wrong with these people? What did I do to deserve this? How DARE they? I just couldn't reconcile the days cookie intake, or reaction. By the end of my short drive, I concluded that they simply must be queer.  It also occurred to me after some venting, that it had been quite important, that they like my offering. This result did not meet my expectations, and I must own my part in wanting that acceptance to transfer to me. The person, not the kick-ass cookie.

It shits me to tears, but it is an undeniable truth that, right or no, all I ever want of people is for them to like me, accept me, appreciate me. Learning that this isn't always possible, is a lesson hard-won.

But seriously, who in their right mind says "no" to food offered by a half-blood Sicilian? It's unheard of. Work dude better watch out. He's going to have to work seriously hard for my throwaway laughs now. Fucker. And just as I was starting to like him too.

when you say nothing... like, at all

Yesterday was my birthday - and after my freak out about it last week, I actually had a really lovely day.  I think I realise that I am what I am, in the place where I am - and that is ok.

I received wishes from Facebook 'friends' which I appreciate - but I also received some gorgeous texts from fewer, far more special individuals.  I was lucky enough to receive warmth, love and some gifts - this extended even into today, when workmates wished me well (well, I was feeding them cake) and the universe generally seemed to give me another pass for the day.

After all the John stuff that has come and gone in recent months - I didn't expect to hear from him. I wrote to him for his birthday weeks ago, to which he never responded. This is why I was surprised to receive his correspondence today. This is what I got:

I'm a lover of someecards from way back - but to send this, with nothing else except "Happy Birthday" in the subject line? Really? No "how are you? Did you have a nice day?" - sweet nothing. This is how you choose to contact me, after months of nothing? What. A. Fucking. Wanker.

I'm not even sure I find that funny.  Wait, second thought, no, I definitely don't find it funny at all.  In my head, I think perhaps he'd like to wish me a long, boring, unremarkable existence.  In my head, I think he doesn't give a crap about anything me related. Or maybe, this is his version of have a nice, long life - without me in it.

This is actually sitting well with me.  I'm just annoyed that he felt compelled to waste the moment of his time to send this completely thoughtless, humorless piece of shit. I feel nothing, other than pity for the kilobytes he wasted sending that via email. Why bother comes to mind.

He obviously doesn't want a response. And may he get his hearts desire.

SB

Those (other) three little words

I've been communicating with John pretty regularly lately - emails back and forth between us, when we each have the time. I try to be funny and casual, with just a hint of innuendo -a type of literary wink. My friend M, the only one I ever confided in about my feelings for John told me once that men were a bit thick with 'things like these' and that I would have to help John reach a certain understanding. I never really kicked that habit.
I suppose this is because I hold hope that someday it'll all click for him - like a jigsaw completed....slapping palm to forehead, exclaiming "oh THAT's what she meant!?"

We talk about work a fair bit - he's actually been pretty lovely - offering advice and being that understanding ear I don't have elsewhere. He could simply say, don't stress - it'll get better and leave it at that; but what he does is offer strategies. I don't know his motives; I don't know why he opted to message a heap of his facebook friends telling them about the bosses job and encouraging them to look into it - I don't know why he included me in this message. I don't know why he cares to expend energy, thinking about the place he has left behind and trying to influence it from afar. Is he simply trying to help me? Or is he keeping the seat, steady and warm for his someday return - midday soap opera style?

I sent a brief, partly amusing facebook message to him last night, responding to one of his questions. Checking my mail today, I found a reply; a reply which begins with "haha! I miss you StrangeBird..". I miss you? I miss you like a friend? I miss your humour? I miss you like there's no one here like you? I miss you like I miss my dead childhood dog sometimes? I miss you like I am not whole without you?

When I read it I didn't know what to think - I left the computer and found a distraction. I returned some three hours later - logged in - stared at the message for minutes - pondered a response for many minutes more. How could I respond to this? It's the first direct emotional statement he's ever attached to me. He wrote it around midnight - was he delirious or drunk? Did he mean it in the way I wanted him to?

It took me a long time to answer. It was time to take my heart out of my pocket, dust it off and rest it on my sleeve a while. A simple reply:

I miss you too John..

Click.

SB xx

Anatomy Lesson

We have what you might call a 'temp' staff member with us at the moment. She's an Irish lass, travelling Australia doing her 'trade' and she found herself on our doorstep some two months ago. Things I know about young Irish... she's a very funny drunk, strangely fixated on finding her soul-mate, loves chocolate, hates tomato sauce and adores the TV show 'Grey's Anatomy'.

We have had some interesting and comical conversations centered around the show - and admittedly, it's nice to have someone to talk to again, about silly stuff.  Irish wants to be Christina Yang... and she also wants to find herself a dishy M.D. In a state of drunkenness a few weeks ago, Irish pointed out that while she wants to snag herself a Dr Sloan... I'm a Dr Derek Shepherd kinda gal.  How is it that someone I've known mere weeks, can condense me down, to that?  Strangely, she's right.

Sloan is sexy, sometimes crass and mean, and truthfully I just wouldn't know what to do with that. But Shepherd is the one you make a home with - still charming and sexy with all his cerebral knowledge - he's a protector, a virtual teddy bear with all the right words.

All of this recent talk about weddings - not only the royal wedding, but also with some recent engagements at work - it's hard not to think about that great big question mark hanging above my 'almost-30' head.  Torn between accepting the idea it might not happen for me, and participating in desperate creative visualisation exercises - I'm more than scared about 'what next'.

Vivid dreams about faraway men, reliving pivotal moments I wish I could change; suggestive emails to a seemingly stupid-stupid man, God, I even looked at RSVP.com the other night - to check out my options. What is to become of me??

SB xx

He lingers

Today, I found out by pure chance, that John is actually still in town.  I figured he couldn't wait to see this place in his rear-view mirror.  There must be a reason he's stuck; he wouldn't be here by choice.

Which begs the question - why couldn't he come and say good bye to his workmates properly? Does he find the whole act of farewell so offensive that he can't bring himself to do it? Would he find it too painful? Does he just not give a crap?

Not that the answer really matters to me - it's just, funny. And disappointing. As adults, aren't we 'supposed' to start and end things in a certain way?

It's so pathetic to admit, but there's a part of me that imagines finding some secret correspondence from him that explains everything.  Something that makes it all better.  An email; a handwritten note left in an obscure place; a letter posted from afar.  Every time I see a strange envelope, my heart skips a beat. 

If I hold my breath, I think I'll die of oxygen deprivation. Or broken heart. Whatever.

SB xx

DENIED

It's official - I know nothing about men... and seemingly, for once in my life - I should have kept my heart tucked safely away in a forgotten pocket - and not worn it on my sleeve. What a fool.

It's been a roller coaster week - most of which centres around John.  With yesterday being his last day, I worked myself up into a bit of a state (not outwardly) when the time came - but, it was an anticlimax - because he didn't say goodbye - he said he'd come back today and finish up. He came back briefly - got tied up in something and phoned hours later: "oh, by the way - if I don't see you before I go... take care... we'll catch up in emails and what-not". AND WHAT NOT?! What. The. Fuck?

I don't know, it's my own stupid fault for expecting anything more.  Why did I think, after our seemingly growing friendship in open email discussions; sharing interests - why did I think that would mean anything? I feel like such an idiot. The day of his farewell, he sent me a lovely email, picking me up out of my funk and telling me he had faith in me, telling me how vital my role is at work - pushing buttons.  When I replied, I opened up about myself - like I haven't before and I told him I'd be sad seeing him go. Obviously I overstepped the mystical boundaries; revealed too much; scared him away?

I didn't really expect our final goodbye to be fireworks and secret declarations of love in the storeroom - I wished for it, but I didn't really expect it. I thought at least it'd be done in person, maybe a hug? I just feel like a massive idiot. I needed some kind of official closure... this... today, was unhelpful. I'm just speechless.

The more I think about the things that led to today - I just feel so silly. I feel sick with myself. Still, I know that his departure is a positive thing for me.  He will no longer be a distraction.

SB xx

this must be what the place looks like, from afar

Apologies - my posts about John are irritating (they irritate me, but they are an account of what's occupying my head at the time). I know I don't do lust, or things unrequited very well.  I am an impatient and fiery Aries and when I want something, I want it, now- no two ways about it.

He's not mine, he never will be.  He's not mine, he never will be.  He's not mine, he never will be. Perhaps if I say it to myself enough, it will sink in.

I'm so tired of wanting things I can't have.  Life keeps dangling carrots in my face, or at least in my general direction - just long enough for me to see what it looks like, before it is promptly yanked away, and eaten by someone else.  Each day, I wake up and I wonder, is this the day everything is going to change?  Is this the day that is going to turn everything on it's head?

Don't mind my bad mood - I'm just well-pissed that a kick-ass dress I ordered online arrived today and doesn't fit properly, and now I can't buy it anymore.  Hell hath no fury....

Really, I am looking down the barrel of another year.  I am thinking if not now, when?  I'm trying, I'm pushing, I'm trying to pave a little way forward, I'm just tired.  I want someone to look at me and see all the things I know are possible.  I want to be the person in somebody's dream.

I am making a fool of myself with John.  Seriously, he can't be that stupid?  I thought I could distract myself with a new male recruit who recently started at work, but alas my vibe-o-meter hit 'creepy' almost instantaneously (and I know, it's not nice to judge so quickly, or to judge at all... but seriously).  This guy talks like the teacher from 'Ferris Bueller' (anyone...anyone...anyone?) looks like he hasn't eaten solid food for two months and shakes hands like a cold dead fish (now you can't tell me the handshake isn't an indicator of something!).  If John is 10, then Newbie is 2 and that is NOT all looks I'm talking about.

Geez - I better bitch-down.  I have more important things to worry about, like getting a handle on a new job while the place is falling apart.  Fuck.

Until the picture clears up, I'll have to stick to creating it in my mind.

SB xx

Handyman, Candyman

There's a maintenance man at work - he's mid to late 40's and balding, and he's notorious for pursuing the young girls in my workplace. I've worked with some of the girls who have been the object of his affection, and seen him in action. I've never been on the receiving end however. This fact plays to my weakness and after three years of clearly not being good enough, I find myself asking "what's so wrong with me?"

What is so awful about me, that I can't grab the momentary attention of a bald, lanky, 'mature' man who spends 8 hours a day (this is not an exaggeration), dressed in khaki? I used to think he was the odd one - but then in this "one of these things does not belong here; one of these things is not the same" game - I think I may be the minority.

To the other extreme. I had a young fella approach my desk today - he shocked me a little when I looked up - I didn't expect to be met by a pair of piercing blue eyes and 'just the right amount' of stubble. He made me blush! Whoa I thought - I wish all the clientele looked like that. So, intrigued, I did some detective work and found that this man-child was born an entire decade after me. Jesus Christ and Mother Mary, he's barely legal and I'm fucking old!

Just my luck.

SB xx