Now and again, I am confronted by a situation that is seemingly benign and ordinary, but irritates the living daylights out of me. Maybe I'm alone in feeling this, but I think not. Situation? Being single at a gathering full of couples or one half of a couple. We all know how this goes... the following questions/comments are inevitable:
- "is that (being single) a relatively new development?": W-H-Y do people ask this fucking question? Is being single the new cancer -- are they trying to ascertain how long I have left?
- "what are you looking for?": Do people really (I mean, REALLY) expect an answer to this? By the time the answer leaves your mouth, it may as well be a high pitched keening sound, for all the attention that'll be paid to it. This is largely because most people only ask that question in order to set the stage for the next statement. They're already on a mission... this is the social equivalent of the "how're you doing?" while walking away at a rapid pace, popular in the American workplace.
- "I have just the right person for you": Don't let the conversation get to this stage. You've been warned. Without fail, by the time this one is uttered, it's too late to issue the "I'm really not looking for anyone". This is the biggest lie of all, at least about 99.9% of the time, if not more. Through enough data points, I have gathered that if you fall for this one, the disaster will be two-fold:
-- you will find out what this "friend" actually thinks of you, to have set you up with an insanely boring slug. You will find it impossible to think affectionately about said friend ever again.
-- Insanely boring slugs are supremely difficult to rid oneself of. Or maybe it just seems like a lifetime.
If one is single, and comfortable with the status for the most part, it is absolutely critical that any attempt to discuss ANYTHING leading to a fix-up is nipped in the bud. Immediately, if not sooner. Examples of such topics include: discussions around potential change in housing situation (rent v. buy), holidays, families, flex hours at work, 4 door sedans, crime stats in your neighborhood, your preference for a 2 bedroom place, your age, etc. Obviously, it's not possible to avoid any and all topics...for instance: the last time I went to see a dentist, I was invited to a singles party by the dentist, even though I'm pretty sure I made only gurgling noises throughout our interaction...go figure.
On a more curious note, what is it about being single that attracts this immeasurable altruism in people one may have only just met? Isn't it ok to just be by yourself? Is it absolutely necessary to be validated in the eyes of the generalissimo by the fact that someone is in a relationship with you? And why the fuck should one have to endure random/clumsy passes simply due to being single (or risk being sulked at for ages) -- is this some sort of civic duty that I haven't heard about...an extra tax levied on the unattached? This is a (not so) mild form of harassment -- make it stop!!
Pet Peeve #1 (observations somewhat particular to my adopted country...US)
Yes, I know I haven't updated this since Jan...there's no reason for you to continue your friendly reminders, thank you. The problem is that there is too much to write, and too little. While I collect my thoughts and post what I think is communicable via the written word and my limited abilities, I will leave you with a post about a pet peeve that I just had to get out of my system.
******************
Girls/ Guys nights out
Americans are often seen excitedly planning such endeavors. However, to some, this is a concept about as confounding as the mating lives of sex-changing insects. Although it may seem that simply being chromosomically pre-disposed may qualify one for such an event, don’t be fooled… as with most other things in life, Americans like to complicate the logistics to the point of generating stress (an American favorite, as states of mind go. One just hasn’t arrived in life until one is stressed enough to beat it with yoga and transcendental meditation and thereafter pontificate about it). Much is made of whom to invite (as the pressure to ensure harmony in group dynamics are an important contribution to the stress that must be beat), and where to go. As most people living in North America will have been to one of these, or are likely to be invited at least once (or, God forbid, asked to arrange them), here are some pointers:
- Dinner is expected to be at a place a bit more upper echelon than any of the attendees would normally frequent, so as to trumpet one’s success through the ability to waste money on mediocre food and snobby service (this will later be referred to as being “an authentic Paris experience” or the like). A “risqué” touch, like cross-dressing waiters would pretty much immortalize the experience well into the set-in of Alzheimer’s.
- One is expected to dress well. As in: you can’t go as you normally would, with your normal set of friends. Girls nights out require showing some skin; guys are expected to play it cool, “hipster”, or sharp depending on the neighborhood & other attendees. Yes, deodorant is a must.
- The venue for après-food alcohol-induced obliteration cannot be the dive bar with 124 beers on tap where they know your name & preference. It has to be a glitzy spot (the newer the better, so the group can subsequently announce themselves as trendsetters) where one can be guaranteed that >60% of the population is not there for the music or the award-winning selection of alcohol, and that you will not escape without irreversible damage to your hearing.
More often than not, the ostensible point of a night out is to catch up with your friends (perplexingly, often people that you see every other week anyway), but don't let that side-track you. Very little conversation actually happens, as one is already deaf, and required to be constantly scanning the room for potential d/m-ating material. One might argue that attendees are normally individuals who already have a partner (“significant other” (SO), as Americans like to put it), possibly out on a similar night out, and cheating is one of the taboo things that today’s society seems somewhat agreed on, but the point is not that of an actual hook-up… the point is to treat the experience like a zoo visit as opposed to the wilderness. After the viewing hours are over, most will return home having felt the pleasing ego-stroke of validated hotness. Or a renewed appreciation for the snoring oaf in bed. Please note that should a member of the group be engaged by an unassociated party, one is required to stand there by their side to “support” them through the episode to the bitter end. Yawning, or attempting to bring an end to the conversation by bringing up the futility of this exchange because of current SO is an absolute no-no.
When invited to such an event, one must immediately feign extreme interest and express thanks for the invite with much enthusiasm. Follow all pointers, and at a later hour, agree with other members of the group that a particularly scruffy musician or unctuous waiter that you’d bet hadn’t showered in decades is the epitome of hotness.
For women, subsequent benefits of acquaintances acquired at such events include not being left alone at times of breakups or homesickness (blessing for some; curse for others), high attendance at bridal & baby showers (and expensive gifts to out-do each other), and potential entertainment from watching generally amusing behavior in random social settings.
Men may well acquire new wingmen, and potential helpers for the next move involving furniture.
******************
Girls/ Guys nights out
Americans are often seen excitedly planning such endeavors. However, to some, this is a concept about as confounding as the mating lives of sex-changing insects. Although it may seem that simply being chromosomically pre-disposed may qualify one for such an event, don’t be fooled… as with most other things in life, Americans like to complicate the logistics to the point of generating stress (an American favorite, as states of mind go. One just hasn’t arrived in life until one is stressed enough to beat it with yoga and transcendental meditation and thereafter pontificate about it). Much is made of whom to invite (as the pressure to ensure harmony in group dynamics are an important contribution to the stress that must be beat), and where to go. As most people living in North America will have been to one of these, or are likely to be invited at least once (or, God forbid, asked to arrange them), here are some pointers:
- Dinner is expected to be at a place a bit more upper echelon than any of the attendees would normally frequent, so as to trumpet one’s success through the ability to waste money on mediocre food and snobby service (this will later be referred to as being “an authentic Paris experience” or the like). A “risqué” touch, like cross-dressing waiters would pretty much immortalize the experience well into the set-in of Alzheimer’s.
- One is expected to dress well. As in: you can’t go as you normally would, with your normal set of friends. Girls nights out require showing some skin; guys are expected to play it cool, “hipster”, or sharp depending on the neighborhood & other attendees. Yes, deodorant is a must.
- The venue for après-food alcohol-induced obliteration cannot be the dive bar with 124 beers on tap where they know your name & preference. It has to be a glitzy spot (the newer the better, so the group can subsequently announce themselves as trendsetters) where one can be guaranteed that >60% of the population is not there for the music or the award-winning selection of alcohol, and that you will not escape without irreversible damage to your hearing.
More often than not, the ostensible point of a
When invited to such an event, one must immediately feign extreme interest and express thanks for the invite with much enthusiasm. Follow all pointers, and at a later hour, agree with other members of the group that a particularly scruffy musician or unctuous waiter that you’d bet hadn’t showered in decades is the epitome of hotness.
For women, subsequent benefits of acquaintances acquired at such events include not being left alone at times of breakups or homesickness (blessing for some; curse for others), high attendance at bridal & baby showers (and expensive gifts to out-do each other), and potential entertainment from watching generally amusing behavior in random social settings.
Men may well acquire new wingmen, and potential helpers for the next move involving furniture.
Updating this blog
So... as I mentioned in a previous post, there were some snide comments directed towards yours truly recently regarding this blog...such as whether the blog was ever going to be updated again or it was "so 2007...". In my defense, I only just got back from Ireland (after a month) in the beginning of Jan, having eaten like a sumo wrestler readying herself for a famine during the Christmas season. By the time I digested all that food, something more punishing was around the corner: the last week and a half has been consumed by "hosting" the folks in town for our annual kickoff...these poor, mis-guided souls had to be escorted and steered away from the soul-sucking tourist traps, and who better for that daunting task than someone with such a strong sense of community and self-sacrifice? It was a job I took on with a legendary sense of responsibility, and my liver has since imploded. The economy, however, has been given a boost of unprecedented proportions, with hoards of Europeans tearing through shops, play money in hand (US$ for those subsisting in middle earth), buying everything in sight. The other evening, DB asked me if this indeed was my job or I actually did something for the company aside from this... har har...he's just the quintessence of Irish wit sometimes, that boy.
Truth be told, I'd been a bit of a wallowing-in-self-pity, moany bitch lately, what with the job situation and all. Then I caught up with a good friend recently with whom I hadn't exchanged 15 full sentences since I left for my Ireland assignment. His infant daughter (less than a year) has a tumor in her eye and is undergoing chemotherapy for the same. I can't even begin to imagine what this family is going through...now I feel like an over-privileged brat who has the luxury to complain about being granted one less company-paid perk and doesn't realize how lucky she is (and I'm the worst, really, because I often like to think I am far more evolved in these matters than I am :-) ). Hopefully, most of you reading this blog will take the time to do the same: appreciate our good fortune (till our parents stop sending the checks, anyway), and our health (and especially, by god, our industrial strength livers).
Right then...stay warm, and I'll update the blog with some recent happenings soon.
Truth be told, I'd been a bit of a wallowing-in-self-pity, moany bitch lately, what with the job situation and all. Then I caught up with a good friend recently with whom I hadn't exchanged 15 full sentences since I left for my Ireland assignment. His infant daughter (less than a year) has a tumor in her eye and is undergoing chemotherapy for the same. I can't even begin to imagine what this family is going through...now I feel like an over-privileged brat who has the luxury to complain about being granted one less company-paid perk and doesn't realize how lucky she is (and I'm the worst, really, because I often like to think I am far more evolved in these matters than I am :-) ). Hopefully, most of you reading this blog will take the time to do the same: appreciate our good fortune (till our parents stop sending the checks, anyway), and our health (and especially, by god, our industrial strength livers).
Right then...stay warm, and I'll update the blog with some recent happenings soon.
December 2007 - III
Christmas eve & Christmas
DB called over on Christmas eve with gifts (“so I wouldn’t feel left out over Christmas”), which was such an incredibly thoughtful thing to do that I was confused regarding his gender for a few seconds (didn’t last long, thankfully for us). What’s even better is the fact that these were all gifts that I just LOVED. We all know how it is with Christmas gifts… I mean, which one of us is really going to put that porcelain cat to use, hmm?... well, these have been used a lot since being received – the best gauge, in my opinion, for how much they are liked/ appreciated. Dinner was at TG’s place with a couple of his friends…Indian food (the preparation of which almost killed them with coughing fits… brave lot, these Irish, for being willing to ingest that very same food after that).
For Christmas, I guilted TG into inviting me to his family home for dinner and revelries with the family (I swear, CB has noted that I have acquired the guilt-inducing skills of a jewish mother (she’d know)). He is one of seven siblings, which in itself is stupefying to me. That they were all going to be there with families in tow was an epic event I could simply not have missed. As TG put it, “there’s always place for one more… noone’ll even notice you’re there”. The day started out with gifts being unwrapped by TG’s daughter, amid excited squeals and giggles. After a breakfast of eggs florentine whipped up by TG (this is the LIFE!), the young’un & I were bundled into the car and transported to the family home. After we had each consumed enough food for a small nation, we said our goodbyes, and off we went. It was an incredibly fun time, and I was invited back “anytime” (an invitation I totally intend to take them up on, little do they know!).
DB called over on Christmas eve with gifts (“so I wouldn’t feel left out over Christmas”), which was such an incredibly thoughtful thing to do that I was confused regarding his gender for a few seconds (didn’t last long, thankfully for us). What’s even better is the fact that these were all gifts that I just LOVED. We all know how it is with Christmas gifts… I mean, which one of us is really going to put that porcelain cat to use, hmm?... well, these have been used a lot since being received – the best gauge, in my opinion, for how much they are liked/ appreciated. Dinner was at TG’s place with a couple of his friends…Indian food (the preparation of which almost killed them with coughing fits… brave lot, these Irish, for being willing to ingest that very same food after that).
For Christmas, I guilted TG into inviting me to his family home for dinner and revelries with the family (I swear, CB has noted that I have acquired the guilt-inducing skills of a jewish mother (she’d know)). He is one of seven siblings, which in itself is stupefying to me. That they were all going to be there with families in tow was an epic event I could simply not have missed. As TG put it, “there’s always place for one more… noone’ll even notice you’re there”. The day started out with gifts being unwrapped by TG’s daughter, amid excited squeals and giggles. After a breakfast of eggs florentine whipped up by TG (this is the LIFE!), the young’un & I were bundled into the car and transported to the family home. After we had each consumed enough food for a small nation, we said our goodbyes, and off we went. It was an incredibly fun time, and I was invited back “anytime” (an invitation I totally intend to take them up on, little do they know!).
December 2007 - II
Business meeting in Germany
So off I go in Dec for a meeting in the back arse of nowhere in Germany. No, I mean it… this was no Berlin or Frankfurt. A fine time, nonetheless, because of the folks I was out to meet… they were great company, and I was brought around to a local winery (bought 12 bottles of good riesling… more on that later), the Mannheim Christmas market for what is possibly one of my favorite Christmas related things: gluhwein (mulled wine), a sumptuous meal in a non-tourist spot and loads of strong German beer.
But the excitement only begins after I crash face-down in the hotel. OF COURSE I don’t wake up when I intended to, because the alarm was set for 7 PM instead of AM. So there was a general rush to catch the train to get back to Frankfurt to catch the flight to Dublin. Now bear in mind that while I traveled very light TO Germany (1 small bag & 1 laptop), I now have an additional 12 bottles of wine (weighing 18 kgs) to take back. Basically, from now, pretty much every step, every stair, and every mini-sprint has that weight in addition to everything else and my own tubby self. And also keep in mind my fitness level (pathetic). In my haste, I get on the wrong train – this was not the fast ICE train that takes only 30 mins… this was the slow-ass local one that stops at EVERY damn podunk town on the way to Frankfurt. The ticket collector comes by and informs me that I am on the wrong train… this is not the ICE. Umm… no shit, Sherlock… I could've guessed that from the fact that the cows are keeping pace with us, for god’s sake. I ask him if I can make it in for my flight, which leaves in about 2 hours, and the man just freaks. He launches into a hysterical lecture of some sort in German, glancing at his watch repeatedly and gesturing in a rather maniacal fashion (all this makes him seem like the energizer bunny, but powered by stress instead of Ni-Cd or whatever... there was head clutching and hand wringing involved... truthfully, I hadn't thought Germans capable of such drama. Live and learn, eh?). Anyway, I gather from the hysterics that the answer is “no”. I imagine that in true German style, he simply cannot fathom how I'm not already at the airport, all checked hours in advance. By now he has managed to give me a panic attack as well… (normally not an easy feat when it comes to me & travel related matters)...I am having visions of spending days on this train as we go from village to village before getting to Frankfurt and having to eat my handbag with sauerkraut for meals, washing it down with lukewarm riesling. In the midst of this, I reckon he realizes that my blank stare could mean that I don’t speak German. He races off into the next compartment… at this time, I figure I’ll get there when I get there, and what’s the point in getting frown lines over this? But lo and behold, he’s back with a young lady in tow. She doesn’t speak very good English, but definitely enough to explain to me that I am screwed. He hands me off to her after explaining all my options to her. No, I won’t get to Frankfurt airport in time (1 hr in advance)… in fact, I won’t even get to Frankfurt city by then. Oh, and I have to change trains to get to the airport. Great.
This girl then proceeds to:
- sit with me throughout the journey in case I have any questions
- offer me the use of her phone to change tickets (Expedia is called and they mention it’s too late to change tickets if the flight is in less than 2 hours… I should do this at the airport…also keep this trivia in mind for later)
- give me her contact information in case I ever need help when I am in the area again!!!
- make me get off at the same stop as her, carries half my stuff, and deposits me on the right platform to catch the train to the airport. She asks another girl at the stop to make sure I make it to the airport, and the other girl agrees (!), picks up half my stuff as instructed by girl#1 and prods me to get off at the right stop.
This is just astounding to me… simply AMAZING… I am humbled by such genuine helpfulness!! Several other people offer to help carry things, but I am simply too embarrassed by now to put any more people through any trouble. I manage to run/walk/crawl to the Aer Lingus counter (miraculously, 30 mins before the flight) and choke out my destination. Imagine my surprise when the lady behind the counter says “you’re not on the 10:30 a.m. flight…you’re booked on the 8 p.m. flight. No, we don’t do standby, sorry. Next!” (HOW could Expedia not have told me this earlier??) So now I have half a day to hang around. I go to the company’s Frankfurt office to get some work done, or browse the internet. At the office, I meet some more interesting people… such as the IT manager, a super sweet guy who also happens to be an uber-geek. The following are the highlights of the interaction with him:
Him: please can I take a look at your laptop for a minute?
Me (thinking I had accidentally brought in a virus in or something) yes, of course
He simply looks at it and asked which one it is. I tell him the model number.
Him: "ah... you are a manager position? In the US?"
Me (thoroughly perplexed): "um.. yes"
Him: "I see"
He then goes on to tell me that they have different laptops for different position levels in that office!!!
He and I then have this awkward little chat about computers and why he thinks that IBM laptops suck now that Lenovo has bought them, etc – to the point of insisting that “ze plastic is not even feeling that good". That I was boggled by this attention to work laptop details would be an understatement. I felt inadequate that I had nothing to add to feed this passion… I could only manage to squeak out something about bad battery life… it seemed to work, and he went on to tell me AT LENGTH how to deal with it (including taking me to his office to show me a program used to manage battery power). Then he stopped by a bit later and said, "also you could change the battery". I could only blink vapidly in response, once again surprised at the fact that someone would actually care a whit about my petty woes. Friendly lot in that office...I may go back for a visit after all.
So off I go in Dec for a meeting in the back arse of nowhere in Germany. No, I mean it… this was no Berlin or Frankfurt. A fine time, nonetheless, because of the folks I was out to meet… they were great company, and I was brought around to a local winery (bought 12 bottles of good riesling… more on that later), the Mannheim Christmas market for what is possibly one of my favorite Christmas related things: gluhwein (mulled wine), a sumptuous meal in a non-tourist spot and loads of strong German beer.
But the excitement only begins after I crash face-down in the hotel. OF COURSE I don’t wake up when I intended to, because the alarm was set for 7 PM instead of AM. So there was a general rush to catch the train to get back to Frankfurt to catch the flight to Dublin. Now bear in mind that while I traveled very light TO Germany (1 small bag & 1 laptop), I now have an additional 12 bottles of wine (weighing 18 kgs) to take back. Basically, from now, pretty much every step, every stair, and every mini-sprint has that weight in addition to everything else and my own tubby self. And also keep in mind my fitness level (pathetic). In my haste, I get on the wrong train – this was not the fast ICE train that takes only 30 mins… this was the slow-ass local one that stops at EVERY damn podunk town on the way to Frankfurt. The ticket collector comes by and informs me that I am on the wrong train… this is not the ICE. Umm… no shit, Sherlock… I could've guessed that from the fact that the cows are keeping pace with us, for god’s sake. I ask him if I can make it in for my flight, which leaves in about 2 hours, and the man just freaks. He launches into a hysterical lecture of some sort in German, glancing at his watch repeatedly and gesturing in a rather maniacal fashion (all this makes him seem like the energizer bunny, but powered by stress instead of Ni-Cd or whatever... there was head clutching and hand wringing involved... truthfully, I hadn't thought Germans capable of such drama. Live and learn, eh?). Anyway, I gather from the hysterics that the answer is “no”. I imagine that in true German style, he simply cannot fathom how I'm not already at the airport, all checked hours in advance. By now he has managed to give me a panic attack as well… (normally not an easy feat when it comes to me & travel related matters)...I am having visions of spending days on this train as we go from village to village before getting to Frankfurt and having to eat my handbag with sauerkraut for meals, washing it down with lukewarm riesling. In the midst of this, I reckon he realizes that my blank stare could mean that I don’t speak German. He races off into the next compartment… at this time, I figure I’ll get there when I get there, and what’s the point in getting frown lines over this? But lo and behold, he’s back with a young lady in tow. She doesn’t speak very good English, but definitely enough to explain to me that I am screwed. He hands me off to her after explaining all my options to her. No, I won’t get to Frankfurt airport in time (1 hr in advance)… in fact, I won’t even get to Frankfurt city by then. Oh, and I have to change trains to get to the airport. Great.
This girl then proceeds to:
- sit with me throughout the journey in case I have any questions
- offer me the use of her phone to change tickets (Expedia is called and they mention it’s too late to change tickets if the flight is in less than 2 hours… I should do this at the airport…also keep this trivia in mind for later)
- give me her contact information in case I ever need help when I am in the area again!!!
- make me get off at the same stop as her, carries half my stuff, and deposits me on the right platform to catch the train to the airport. She asks another girl at the stop to make sure I make it to the airport, and the other girl agrees (!), picks up half my stuff as instructed by girl#1 and prods me to get off at the right stop.
This is just astounding to me… simply AMAZING… I am humbled by such genuine helpfulness!! Several other people offer to help carry things, but I am simply too embarrassed by now to put any more people through any trouble. I manage to run/walk/crawl to the Aer Lingus counter (miraculously, 30 mins before the flight) and choke out my destination. Imagine my surprise when the lady behind the counter says “you’re not on the 10:30 a.m. flight…you’re booked on the 8 p.m. flight. No, we don’t do standby, sorry. Next!” (HOW could Expedia not have told me this earlier??) So now I have half a day to hang around. I go to the company’s Frankfurt office to get some work done, or browse the internet. At the office, I meet some more interesting people… such as the IT manager, a super sweet guy who also happens to be an uber-geek. The following are the highlights of the interaction with him:
Him: please can I take a look at your laptop for a minute?
Me (thinking I had accidentally brought in a virus in or something) yes, of course
He simply looks at it and asked which one it is. I tell him the model number.
Him: "ah... you are a manager position? In the US?"
Me (thoroughly perplexed): "um.. yes"
Him: "I see"
He then goes on to tell me that they have different laptops for different position levels in that office!!!
He and I then have this awkward little chat about computers and why he thinks that IBM laptops suck now that Lenovo has bought them, etc – to the point of insisting that “ze plastic is not even feeling that good". That I was boggled by this attention to work laptop details would be an understatement. I felt inadequate that I had nothing to add to feed this passion… I could only manage to squeak out something about bad battery life… it seemed to work, and he went on to tell me AT LENGTH how to deal with it (including taking me to his office to show me a program used to manage battery power). Then he stopped by a bit later and said, "also you could change the battery". I could only blink vapidly in response, once again surprised at the fact that someone would actually care a whit about my petty woes. Friendly lot in that office...I may go back for a visit after all.
December 2007 - I
The complete omission of all December 2007 events from this blog has been noticed by certain observant readers (the sanctimonious little twits that they are) and I have been pulled up on this. As such, the next few posts (including this) will be addressing that concern…
Company Christmas party in Ireland
Venue: Ramada Inn, Co. Carlow
This was an absolute smashing hit, in my humble opinion. Not that I EVER had doubts that this would be the right thing to do (the other option was to bore myself to tears at the company Christmas party in the US), however I still must reiterate that this was a great ol’ time – very well planned and attended. There was a copious amount of alcohol (the great social lubricant), and a good time was had by all, nolens volens. The air guitars were out in full force, and our lads were second to none when it came to partner-toe-crushing action. Needless to say there was singing involved…some mighty fine singing voices in the group, although the other end of the spectrum was also, sadly, well represented.
Company Christmas party in Ireland
Venue: Ramada Inn, Co. Carlow
This was an absolute smashing hit, in my humble opinion. Not that I EVER had doubts that this would be the right thing to do (the other option was to bore myself to tears at the company Christmas party in the US), however I still must reiterate that this was a great ol’ time – very well planned and attended. There was a copious amount of alcohol (the great social lubricant), and a good time was had by all, nolens volens. The air guitars were out in full force, and our lads were second to none when it came to partner-toe-crushing action. Needless to say there was singing involved…some mighty fine singing voices in the group, although the other end of the spectrum was also, sadly, well represented.
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