Sam’s Ministrations on Life

So, i am just sitting here in work waiting for my boss to show up. I was specifically told to not get here at the “usual sam time” which is a little after 9, but instead to arrive at the given start of the work day… which I’ve heard is 8:30. What a nasty rumor that one is. There was approx. 5% of the entire office here at that point. So, I’ve been sitting here since 8:27, it’s now been almost an hour and i’m still waiting. Today I am to venture out onto a segment of abandonned rail tracks that we are remaking into a vibrant transit-oriented, mixed-use, open space corridor… did i get all the buzz words in? I was warned to dress in something I could get wet… as we might be venturing swamp-side, carry a big stick… this is of course multi-purpose to fend of the homeless who live under the bridges, stray, rabid dogs, and any sort of southern venomous snake-cobra thing. And of course there is the ever-present danger of being engulfed in a mound of kudzu… a creeping vine that covers everything… and being pulled under not to be found until next winter. I was contemplating mace, but was informed that it was too easy to be taken from me and used against me. The dog attack requires that I stand my ground, scream in a firm and bellowing voice, and if this doesn’t work not to run, but to curl up and protect my soft insides… to this i replied that i am soft all over so they were going to have to be more specific. this is all besides the fact that these rail corridors are in the worst possible section of town, where white people do not exist except in urban legends, and to oppress the people. did i mention we will have 5000 worth of GPS equipment strapped to our backs. as if that isn’t a sign to mug the girl with the bright-yellow homing beacon on her back. i fear for sparky’s life too… i’ll probably walk out to find only a scrap of silver plastic where he once stood… and a discarded patriots license plate. poor fellow. Oh well, wish me luck, and if I dont talk to you soon you’ll know where to find me… in S. ATL.

Which brings me to another point. That awful movie they are coming out with soon called ATL. Yeah, that will really have a positive impact on the progress we are attempting to make here to appear crime and drug free.

So, I’ve got some exciting people plans. In early april daddy’s going to come visit me. we’ll go to the aquarium and maybe the zoo too. it should be lots of fun. then in late april i think i’m doing a short weekend getaway with my girls from wellesley in dallas… i’ve never been so it should be fun. in early may i’m going to visit my aunt, uncle and cousin in st. croix with mom and gramma. hopefully gram wont go into shock being around that many ‘island folk’ if ya know what i mean… she can hardly deal in the middle of nowhere pa. perhaps i will actually get some color… or not. but we are staying at a resort called The Bucaneer… hopefully they wont have pirate themed rooms… that is unless Johnny Depp is put in my pirate themed room. And last, but certainly not least i am finally going to the famed and mythical Emerald City, otherwise known as Seattle to visit MM&L. My uncle has an exhibition opening up in Vancouver about the architect named Erikson, very modern, clean wood and metal structures. So I think we’ll go up early Saturday am, and come back sunday night… maybe i can convince the bums to take off friday so we can head up to decatur (sp?) on thursday night. i’ll be sure to pack my petuli and long flowey skirts… and leave my razor at home… i’ll also be sure to have a caribiner on me at all times because you never know when there will be an impromptu kayak trip to the base of a mountain that needs climbing. i think that sums up my idea of west coast life.

Ah, so, I went on my first ‘date’ back out on the singles scene last Friday… St. Paddy’s day. I’m going to sum it up as follows… I am nowhere near being ready to start dating again. It was like a test for me to see if I was really ready to get out there, or if I was just drooling over cute guys in the grocery store. So, I met this guy on myspace… we chatted for a few weeks, he seemed smart, funny, low-key… And just to be sure I asked him if he was a serial killer and he told me no… so who wouldn’t believe an endorsement like that? I mean, come on, Lauren meets people online all the time, I’m online, not everyone out there is weird… right? Apparently not. So I agreed to meet him for drinks at a local pub… within two blocks of a burly male co-worker that I had ready on speedial in case there was any weirdness factor. I walk in, I’m thinking, well, it shouldn’t be hard to see a 6 ft tall black man in an Irish pub, right? Except when he’s sitting down and I can’t find him around all the drunken Buckhead Betties in their green tube tops. So I end up having to go up to a bunch of black guys in the pub asking them if their name is Luke.

When I finally find him he’s okay looking, not my type at all… he was certainly one of those people that choose photos where they look in their top 10% hottest, rather than their average day look. I call that false advertisement. He was a little too Oreo for me… if ya know what I mean. So this is how the first seconds of our meeting went…
“Hi, are you Luke?”
“Yeah, you must be Sam.”
“I’m glad I finally found you, although it was a little tricky with you sitting down.”
“Wow, you said you were short, but holly crap, you’re like a wee leprechaun.”
“Um… “

WTF… who starts a conversation like that. It’s not like I lied. 5’2” is 5’2”, it’s not like the scale bar next to me wasn’t right or something. I’m short, but maybe you’re freakishly tall.

Conversation flowed moderately well… aided in great part by some green beer. That is until he asked:
“So how long was your last relationship?”
“Um, ya know, kind of long, it was pretty serious.”
“What, like a whole 2 or 3 years?”
I didn’t have the heart to tell it was 7 years as I could already see the panic in his face.
“Sure, something like that.”
“Damn, don’t you feel like you WASTED 3 years of your life… you know you’ll never get those years back.”
“Um, not really, I wouldn’t be who I am today without those years. How long was your longest fling?”
“Oh, ten months back in high school.”

WTF #2. He just kept muttering “3 years”. Only 10 months… and you’re 24. What have you been sooo busy doing mister important? And didn’t he get the guy handbook of not asking about previous relationships… dude, off-limits, especially when you meet someone for the first time. At least wait to see if you get a second date.

The final straw came later, and for this I need to explain that after emailing for two weeks I had held nothing back with the online sarcasm… and he seemed cool with it, even claiming it was cool to meet someone as sarcastic as him. LIES. He actually said to me at one point… “Are you always like this?” Whatever, clearly he couldn’t hang. If someone doesn’t get my sarcasm they don’t really get me, and plus, they wont be able to tackle my friends either. So I claimed I was tired, had to get up early, yadda, yadda, yadda. He walked me to my car and the only thing I could to was give him a quick hug, mutter, “Boy, it’s cold out here, I better turn my heat on, I’ll call you later.”

I think I will shrink back into my hole, with my cats and my romance novels, and reemerge 6 months from now like Punxatawney Phil to see if I see my dating shadow.

What to say? Nope, not too much here. It’s been beautiful up until yesterday and it started cooling down… and by cooling I mean I need a jacket. So, funny things that have happened to me lately:

- Apparently buddhist monks also enjoy the finer things in life… and by that I mean the local Dunkin Donuts and their free wireless internet. You know monks need their caffeine and email just as bad as the average person, right?

- I’ve had two of the strangest experiences at Mexican restaurants lately. 1) we went on our first official girls’ night out to see hottie Matt Mc. In Failure to Launch (very funny, good date movie… for those of you that are dating, rather than just doing it… you know who you are). We decided to go to a mexican restaurant beforehand and the bitchiest waitress ever “helped” us. First she came up to us and asked my friend J if she was ready to order… she said “I just need a minute”. So clearly the correct thing to do was for her to take one giant step back and start counting backwards from 60 under her breath. This pressured my friend so much that she couldn’t think of an order and lost her window of opportunity. Oh well, you snooze, you lose, and then you don’t get your burrito. Next, I’m halfway through my cheesy delicacy when she comes up and starts removing plates asking if we want dessert or just the check. Um, bitch, I’m still eating…. But yes, in fact, I’ll have a fried ice cream then. My friend S really wanted to complain at this point, but I reminded her that although I agreed she needed a smack down I did not want ice cream covered in spit… or other miscellaneous goo. Then, after the waitress drops off the bill, we are sitting talking, and she repeatedly walks over and lifts up the check to see if we’ve yet to place our credit cards. We ask if it’s okay if we finish our drinks and sit for a minute. Seriously, she comes back two minutes later and hovers. Apparently the little screen flashes an angry red at her and then she has to grab our cards and kick us out. Of course rather than doing anything about it and complaining to management she will forever be immortalized in scathing, idiot waitress stories that I will tell until some waitperson does any even worse job.

- 2) we went to another mexican restaurant tonight and had a very flamboyant gay man, who clearly felt stunted by his uniform and the mandatory bolo tie he was forced to wear. When told he smelled good he responded with “thanks, it’s a mix of burberry and paris hilton’s perfume” WTF, I’m gonna start sporting Drakkar Noir and Polo, who says I’m not woman enough to smell like a dude.

- so myspace is an odd place. I’ve met some really awesome people (you know who you are), but there are also some crazies out there. I keep getting friend requests from 40 year old men, divorced, two kids, Christian, huge NASCAR fans. Um, I’m sorry, does my profile just scream out to hillbillies? I thought I came off pretty liberal… but who knows. I also find it very amusing that there is at least one guy a day sending me a message saying “You’re hot… let’s meet up”. Does that really work? Are there really girls out there that say, “Sure, I don’t know you, and you might chop me up and feed me to your hog, but let’s meet up in a dark alley somewhere.” I had no idea when I signed up that it would essentially be an online meat market. Who needs match when you have myspace.

- So my friend… ,we’ll call her Betty, is wondering the appropriate amount of time to consider a relationship, just that, a relationship? Is a month too long or too short? I think if you’re bumpin and grinding on a fairly regular basis, you hang out almost every other day, and you have actually had a night together when you really did “just” sleep… maybe it’s time. It’s tricky though, if he’s parading you around in front of his friends and calling you his “friend”, but then telling his parents about you, and saying he might want to change his “relationship status” on his myspace… Yech, dating is so much drama…. I think it wouldn’t be so bad if we went to caveman days, with the clubbing over the head. Except this time women should get the clubs, and while the men are gathering berries you check him out, and if he looks fertile and virile (and like he might have a good job, future aspirations and be sensitive… you can of course tell all that from looking)… then you take a good swing and WHACK… you’ve found your mate. No hassle, no relationship mess, just a mild concussion.

-

Damn you PennDesign. So I’m sitting at home trying to enjoy my evening and the phone rings for about the hundredth night in a row. It’s an 866 number so I’ve been screening it for a while. Well I finally pick up the thing and it’s those crazies at the design school looking for money. Blah, blah, blah… spiel about exciting new things happening… and would I be interested in making a contribution of $250. “Nope, sorry, can’t really swing that.” Okay, well, students here desperately need financial aid money to be able to attend school… would you mind giving $100. “Sorry, my loan repayments are a bit high right now.” Well we like to go to our alumni before we have to go towards outside funding… would you like to give $50. “Listen lady, I can barely eat right now I’m that poor.” Okay, well, uh, thanks for your time. I’m thinking in my head throughout this… “Listen psycho, no one gave me money, and I certainly am feeling the repayments now… maybe if you didn’t charge so damn much I would have a little left over after Citiassist has decided to bend me over without even so much as a hint of Vaseline… so unless you are cool with a fiver I would leave me the f*** alone for another 25 years or so until I’ve paid off my soul which I signed over to the Penn devil… thanks for your time.

SO here goes my petit rant about the damn airport. Every time I fly back into Hartsfield Jackson… in this case from Fort Campbell, KY… you come up those damn escalators and there spread out in front of you is the bane of my existence. What’s that you ask? Well, it’s all those damn people waiting to great their friends and family. There are the jovial friends with an extra latte in hand. The parents with signs and balloons. And the worst are the lovers, with flowers and kisses. This inevitably puts me in a foul mood which is never lifted by the ridiculous amount of time I have to always wait for my damn suitcase to emerge from the depths of hell… otherwise known as the baggage handling area. Then there is always that idiot who has to look at the tag on every g d black suitcase, no matter what size or shape. He’s probably thinking… “Gee, did I bring a small or large suitcase, a duffle bag… or perhaps that golf bag.” Mentally I’m screaming “You asshole, if your having this much trouble go home and explain it to your wife so she can put some tacky rainbow ribbon on it… or even better bring her floral luggage next time.” Of course I think we all know how I feel about kids. My solution is to place them in the same hazardous materials bin that you have to place your lighters in before you go through security screening. That’s it for now.