Another one of my BFFs (I used to be a one-BFF type of girl, but not anymore. I’ve got 4.5* of them. They know about each other though so it’s okay. I don’t think there are any jealousy issues.) called me today to ask why I’m not going to her Halloween party. I told her it’s because it’s cold outside, when the truth is – I bought 3 new books on Friday and have stayed in since to read them (not that it being cold outside isn’t also a lousy excuse). But there was no way I was going to tell her that, as she has once told me that the only reason to stay in (as in being in your own apartment during the hours of midnight to 4am) is for dick and never for book. Undeniably, she is the wisest of the 4.5.
For about 20 minutes today, I was worried that that number, 4.5, might go down to 3.5. I had texted a BFF a question, she answered and asked me why I asked her my question, I told her not to worry about it and then as a distraction I told her I miss her, but I received no reciprocation to the I miss you. So I texted her again, “Wait a minute, do you not feel the same way?” 20 minutes later, she texted me back telling me she misses me too and called me a silly girl.
As awesome as it can be to not be tied down to only one BFF, this lifestyle makes you a little paranoid about getting dumped because you are 4.5 times more likely to be broken up with.
*You are among the 4.5 if you currently reside in Waipahu, Sydney, Brooklyn, Somerville, or Melbourne.
As of late, disappointment has been dumped onto me in a copious fashion. One inauspicious thing after another keeps surfacing. I cannot think of the last extraordinary thing to have occurred in my life!
* * *
Optimistically, I browse Craigslist for apartments/roommates and find:
Whatever happened to the value for simplicity? 'You pay rent, you can live here. You don't pay rent, I kick you out.'
* * *
Naturally, when I am presented with someone new to meet, I try to make a good first impression. I have found that showing my upbeat personality usually does the trick.
...Except in cases like this one:
Recently, after having my first conversation with a newly met person, he says to me, "I knew someone like you."
"She's Asian, like you. And she had a terrific personality."
* * *
On Monday, I had that New Staff Orientation
I was required to sign up for almost a month ago. After 3 AND A HALF HOURS of sitting in a room with 50 other new employees listening to various department representatives tell us a little bit about themselves, watching video clips of the history of the university, and having our benefits explained in detail to us, I learn that we are not offered a vision insurance coverage plan! We are hired to support an enormous institution of ultimate nerds that does not even provide insurance for the nerds' eyeglasses!
I'm not sure how much more upset I can take.
But it's not just me. This is becoming wide-spread.
On Tuesday, I went to dinner with the loveliest couple I know, one of my BFFs and her BF. Amidst our meal, her BF blurts out, "I don't like any of my pants!"
He explained to us that he doesn't like his green ones, or the grey ones, or his corduroy ones. The man just doesn't like any of his pants.
We have entered a gloomy era, and I don't know how to escape.
One of the professors I work for invited me to sit in on her class this past Tuesday. As excited as I already was to get to observe this renown professor teach, I had no idea that my expectations were much too low.
* * *
I arrive at the classroom and find the grad students waiting by the entrance, as there was another class still in session. Mere seconds pass before I notice the apparent placement of the students.
Notice the group I’m standing closest to.* I guess we can't help but gravitate towards those we look most alike.
Nonetheless, my excitement reverts to its original level - there is no way the evening can get much better. Until I enter the classroom and sit down.
(After I had accepted my invitation from the professor, she had advised me to find a
"less good seat" when I attended the class, as the students need to have the better
seats in order to participate. I really thought I had followed her instructions, but,
honestly, I couldn't have found myself a less less-good-seat.)
Once seated and situated, I find myself next to the class' Teacher’s Pet. To give you a visual, she has hair like this:
bangs like these:
a face with a permanent smile:
and she's wearing ugly cowgirl boots (which is difficult to do; most cowgirl boots are rather cute).
While someone from the tech department is setting up the projector and opening up the room by sliding apart the movable wall, the teacher assistant asks the students to move their chair desks to form a horseshoe shape. I place my chair desk in front of the movable wall. Teacher’s Pet takes it upon herself to get a head start on the sliding of the movable wall. No one has knowledge of this, however, until the tech person is pushing one side of the wall and he hears an alarmed mousey voice from behind the movable wall panel.
“What are you doing??” the tech person asks (instead of ‘Oh my goodness, are you all right? I almost accidentally squished you!’ indicating that this must not be the first time she’s overstepped her role as student and interfered with his role as tech personnel during his set-up of the classroom). Teacher’s Pet makes her way out from behind the wall panel and proceeds to assist the tech person with pushing the wall panel (indicating that she thought he said ‘Annoying girl, I need your help on THIS side of the wall!’ and not irritatingly asked her what she was doing on the other side of the wall).
Teacher’s Pet goes on to add more chair desks to the horseshoe before finally settling down in her own seat to fidget within her allotted personal space.
At the end of class, Teacher’s Pet raises her hand to comment on another student’s comment during the class discussion. Teacher's Pet wanted to express how deeply touched she was by the other student's participation. “[blah blah blah]. [more gibberish]. Thank you for what you said. That’s going to stick with me for a long time,” she says, while holding her hands over her heart.
* * *
Oh yeah, the professor conducted a wonderful class.
*I only look like I’m a cool Asian; I am by no means cool.
As straight women, we seriously have the shit end of the stick. We were born to love sleeping with straight men and there’s nothing we can to do fix that. Think about them. Straight men... Douchebags. Creeps. IDIOTS.
Assholes are the ones I can deal with - it's the confused ones that I absolutely can't. So allow me be of service to you stupids.
Now that I work for a higher education institution, I shall adopt its mission and goal of advancing and spreading knowledge.
(My mind sometimes works in office mode even when I'm not at work.)
There. I'm doing my part in bettering society by educating an underdeveloped population. You are all very welcome!
I promise I'm not trying to find things to embitter me.
Look! I found positives to Boston.
(all made in Boston)
See? I have no qualms about men or Boston. I try to find the silver lining in hopeless situations.
“Ladies, I was thinking it would be nice if we all went to lunch to officially welcome Whitney!” the email said. (Mind you, pre-email, she and I had had only one brief almost-conversation in which I revealed to her that I had attended school for one year in the state she is from.) I replied, “All of the times/days you suggested work for me. Thanks Bitch!” (For privacy protection, I replaced her real name with a generic name: Bitch.) This was last week; the lunch was yesterday. Which was also supposed to be the start of 3 beautiful friendships for me...
After informing me, once again, of which state Bitch is from, she spent the Welcome Lunch for Whitney sharing stories about her hubbie (and always referring to him as, "my husband," never by name) and exchanging gossip that only the Ladies could understand. So I sat there eating more than I wanted to because I had nothing else to do during their private conversation. Clearly, my attendance at Welcome Lunch for Whitney was imperative.
(Oh, guess who paid for my lunch?)
(I FUCKING DID.)
When I returned to my office (the one that is equipped with THREE chairs!
), I became overwrought with feelings of fullness and regret. And when I have meal regrets, it's worsened by the fullness I feel. For hours, the fullness acts as a reminder of my regret. But how could anyone feel anything other than magnificent after a lunch event held in their honor?
It has taken me an entire day, but I have figured out why I dis-enjoyed lunch so much. Mrs. Bitch is what you call, a Queen Bee*.
She organized and invited me to Welcome Lunch for Whitney to let me know that she is my leader. I am to admire and adore her. Except she can tell I’m not gushing over her and she can't stand it.
BUT GUESS WHO'S PREGNANT? Yup, she is. So she’ll be gone in a few months.
I decided to search for her on Facebook. I’m only able to see her profile picture, but it’s even worse than I expected.
I think she and her hubbie actually auditioned for the wedding picture frame picture and won second place. (The above photo is of the first place winners, not of Mr. and Mrs. Bitch.)
*In order to obtain a comprehensive understanding of her kind, please read all 9 definitions of Queen Bee in Urban Dictionary.
aise your hand if you've ever felt sick to your stomach after getting together with certain members of your extended family.
(At this moment, my left hand is raised while I am typing this sentence with my right hand fingers.)
We all went to visit my grandmother's tomb stone this weekend for the anniversary of her passing. At the memorial service, the usual distasteful family exchanges took place: primarily, pretentious talk laced with competitiveness. Which is particularly painful for me -not because making life-long comparisons between family members is disgusting behavior- but because they haven't caught on that there is no competition to begin with. They aren't even contenders. I have the biggest ego of them all. That's it. You can't compete with someone who has trouble remembering that she is not in fact J. Lo.
So I really wish they'd stop trying to convince me that it's about time I get myself an unattractive but rich boyfriend like they've gotten; that they're so productive and on-the-right-track that they "only have time to eat one meal a day" even though my immediate thought after my first glimpse of them at the cemetery was 'Whoa - someone got chunky'; and that I am indeed supposed to be envious of their piles of dirty money.
Since Qwikster is already not going to happen, those are my 3 wishes, genie.
Of course, not all of them caused me to feel nauseated...
My aunt (who is very young) yelling for her children (my six
year-old cousins) who were sitting in the car playing with their NDSes:"Kids! Time to do the bowing thing!"
(The Chinese light incense and bow facing the tomb stone as a sign of respect for the deceased.)
I can’t believe I almost forgot about the damn mosquitoes. No matter how many windows I kept shut or how much I showered or sacrificed using body fragrance, they routinely attacked me during the summer months. I was their chosen target for quenching their thirst. But perhaps the mosquitoes were merely addicted to the traces of alcohol in my blood. Either way, they bit me so much, I had to sleep with one of these during my last few weeks in New York:
A mosquito net. In New York freaking City.
Good thing I got away, right?
Don’t worry though. As much as I am an advocate of running away from problems, I have made an effort to work on my poor relationship with animals.
Well, just one animal. A few years ago, with the help of my animal-rescuing girlfriend, I figured out how to bypass my fear of dogs. 5 to 7 shots of Jack Daniels. Then I’m golden; her dog Cheech and I even took a nap together once. And the last time Cheech and I hung out, I rubbed noses with her! Except that time I had mostly Ciroc (Diddy’s vodka) in my system. So - my mistake. The fix is 5 to 7 shots of Jack and/or Ciroc.
WITHOUT JACK and/or CIROC
WITH JACK and/or CIROC
1 day and 6 hours after I officially started working: Me
: Has that always been there? I never noticed it before. Coworker
Always, as in for the past 24 hours or so? Never since yesterday?
My question was entirely legitimate; I had never once before that moment noticed the wall decorations that I was asking about.
But guess what? Every OB
gets their own office – which means I, Whitney Soup, Ob.D., get my very own office all to myself (I know. PARTY!!). Be on the lookout for an invite. The party will be like a dorm room one. Except smaller. And instead of sitting on an extra long twin bed, you’ll get to choose between 3 different chairs to sit in. You read right: I HAVE THREE CHAIRS.
I’d like to take this opportunity to say, to all of you who thought I would never amount to anything, who told me I was “weird,” and to “don’t take it personally,” and to “stop freaking out”:
No, you can't come to my party, and you may not sit in one of my chairs.
In preparation for reentering the life of an OB (Office Bitch), I have undertaken a series of grown-up activities.
My new office requires new employees to register for a New Staff Orientation before beginning work. Did that.
My new office also asked me to come in to fill out some paperwork before I begin working. Did that.
On my way to the office, I parked at a subway station lot. Neither booth nor booth personnel were in sight. What I did find was a sign that read, “PAY HERE IN ADVANCE. CUSTOMERS MUST PAY 7 DAYS A WEEK INCLUDING HOLIDAYS.” Underneath it was a large metal box with slots for you to insert money. I had never seen anything so archaic outside of a museum before. So I put my debit card back into my wallet and headed over to the subway. I assumed the sign and box were outdated and were kept there as a landmark out of Bostonian nostalgia and attachment.
I assumed wrong.
I wasn’t bothered though since I saw that I had a few days to send in my payment.
Day 3 came around – as in today – I remembered that I don’t have any stamps or checks.
I emailed the parking company:
“May I make the payment in person?”
“If you mail within the 3 days you are all set.”
The company’s answer to my question was so helpful that I drove to their office to thank them in person. And since I was already there, I paid my parking ticket.
After I earned all these check marks, I started to think about how erudite and perspicacious I was proving to be.
But then I remembered past conversations I've had regarding my intelligence...
Me: [joke I think is funny, witty, and smart]
Brother: You’re retarded.
Me: [different joke I think is funny, witty, and smart]
One-Time Lover: You’re retarded.
To be fair, when One-Time Lover said that, he was being endearing. When my bro said it, he meant it.
My latest hobby has been going on job interviews at universities (Boston is heavily populated with them). This hobby has taught me valuable lessons as well as given me laughter and fun. What I’ve learned is, don’t start this hobby. Because once you become dedicated to it, you won’t be able to do it anymore.
One of universities is forcing me to come out of my early retirement, terminating my newfound hobby.
A LOOK BACK ON THE GOOD TIMES
* * *
M-m-maybe it's for the best I cease this hobby.
* * *
(I'm the purple one.)
(These interviews really happened this way.)