New Boss

I am getting used to my new boss now. I like him very much, but as I am a moody person who needs coffee and alone time, I am confused by his strange and sparkling happiness that is always mellow and kind. I distrust such behavior as a rule and tend to think of such people as fakers.

It seems his enthusiasm is genuine. He has bestowed some nice responsibilities on me like writing fun marketing stuff and attending interesting and non-horrible events. I am getting excited about work type things. That hasn't happened in a long time. I am feeling less and less dormant.

He has not dumped crap in my lap on a Friday or called me out for things I know nothing about or suggested there is a proper way to staple paper or any of the behaviors I accepted as normal from my old boss. It is weird that as much as I prefer the new boss in almost every way, there was something very soothing about the fact that only I could stand my old boss. I felt tougher than the average girl. I think I might actually have issues I didn't know about!

My long probationary period ended months early as the new boss announced he liked me and would give me health insurance early. On the very same day I received mail from my last bleep of an employer - the one I ran away from - about benefits. It seems I wasn't removed from a mailing list.

It gave me the chills to see that letter. I thought about what I would be doing if I were still at that job. First, I would still be at work. 9 to 9 was my basic schedule. I could certainly work longer if it was required, but never shorter. I would be dressed in a designer suit, purchased by the company. I might even be on one of the auxiliary boards they so heavily recommended for me. I would be morphing into a person I don't want to me. For a while I thought I could be an event manager and party planner and avoid the mold of Gold Coast bitchery...but no one can. It is so weird to witness. I wish I could explain but after sixty hour weeks of witnessing it, I couldn't reconcile it within myself, much less explain it in words.

So, in my totally opposite direction of a new job, I tend to stick a Bic ballpoint pen behind my ear at all times. I often carry a clipboard and chat with strangers. I have taken to wearing cardigans and keeping lip gloss in my pocket. I feel like a combo of an old lady and a teenager. That feels a much more appropriate self image than some sort of glamorous city woman in stilettos. I am attending wine tastings and wearing tights again. I am leaving my suits in the closet and wearing flats every day. I am rolling my eyes in solidarity with my new coworkers and growing out the evil pixie cut. Oh, the hair is floppy and gross right now. If ever there was a hairstyle that looked pubescent, I have that. It is so fucking awkward it hurts to look at. A bobby pin and headband can try and help, but I've got to grin and bear this phase, hoping I turn out pretty. I am optimistic that if my life were a movie, this period would be the montage with catchy music. I would look frazzled but poised and before the song ended I would look around I realize I was getting to be happy again.

Babies

My niece is old enough for pigtails now. She is twenty months old and finally likes barrettes in her hair. She used to just rip them out. Today was a nice day. Mom was in town so she took me to my sister's suburb and we all went to brunch. We ladies of the family haven't been all together much since we increased to four.

My mother has a birthday this week and the baby turns twenty months. "Imagine," Mom said to me while pointing to the baby, "When you were this age, I was eight months pregnant with your sister."

"And when you were my age almost exactly, you were getting pregnant with me." I said it before I realized it's the truth. I am exactly the age at which my parents conceived me. As I recall, I grew up with some of the older parents of the kids my age.

I wonder if I am going to be an old Mom. My boyfriend hints around about engagement rings every once in a while but he also talks about changing jobs and I haven't seen evidence of any progress on either front. I know that a wedding isn't a prerequisite for a baby, but I don't think we would relax our prevention methods until we were married. We've discussed it and we want to stick to the lame traditional plan if possible.

I think all this turmoil and thinking is my biological clock making itself heard. We have agreed that we want kids by 35, but that's almost 8 years from now. I feel like I want them sooner. It's all my niece's fault for being the most wonderful, beautiful, captivating child in the universe.

Diet

For years, I have lived under the assumption that I have a "slow metabolism." My Mom is heavy and has hypothyroidism. Her Mom was heavy and had hypothyroidism too. My sister and dad are skinny no matter what, lucky bastards. I have always been heavier than I would like. Any glance at old photos shows me I was never unhealthy, I am just not skinny and I never will be. I am fleshy. Hypothyroidism has never shown up on my yearly blood work. I do get tested. If I am truthful, my worst health issue is laziness.

I have never really dieted. I love food too much. It can be my entire reason for a day. I will wake on Sundays thinking of dinner and where to shop for ingredients. I've worked around food for years in restaurants and a hotel. Blah, blah, blah. Anyway, my life revolves around food and I love that about it. Without that, I would not be me.

Still, the new job has brought change. I used to walk either four miles each way to work or "wimp out" and walk just one to the train. Now, I drive my car 27 miles and walk in from the parking lot. This has cut an easy dozen miles of walking out of my week. Now, I get home later and I am tired. I have been eating too much and drinking too much by my own lax standards. My boyfriend is taking responsibility for more dinners now and that means frozen pizza or Thai delivery. I am probably a bit situationaly depressed and that doesn't help. This is the perfect storm that has caused some straight up weight gain.

I think I have to do this dieting thing now, in some form or another. I was thinking of giving up grain based foods for a while. I think I could do that and stick to more salad and soups. I need to hold back the fat as well. Since I don't eat meat, that doesn't leave much. I have considered going vegan or raw for a bit as well. I am not a moderation girl. If it is around, I will finish it. I quit cigarettes and meat cold turkey, so I need to drop the junk that way too.

I refuse to follow any of the branded plans I know about. I will admit I am snobbish as hell about food and it's not going to happen. A cursory glance at a calorie info website revealed the horrors of my food from yesterday. Dark chocolate, mascarpone, three crab rangoons and cheddar cheese in one day is, I guess, bad for you. Oh, two bloody marys and five beers is bad too. How am I supposed to combat a hangover without fried foods I ask? Cruel world, why must the proportion of exercise required for good health be directly proportional to the amount of time I wish to spend eating and drinking and vice versa? I enjoy exercise in moderation and indulgence as a daily lifestyle habit. I did it backwards.

Old

Today I looked in the mirror and looked different than I used to. The horrid haircut is growing. I have gained weight. All this makes sense. It's what happens when you don't cut your hair or exercise. I feel older. People call me ma'am over the phone now. I used to get asked if my mommy was home well into my teens. My voice was always younger than my real age. I don't have any epiphany about this feeling or anything constructive to add. I just feel old.

Roommate

Today, a series of strange and wonderful events transpired at work and I ended up drinking a glass of 1989 Chateau Haut Brion while a nice man broke into my car and retrieved my keys. My boss said, "You might as well quit today. It's not going to get any better than this." I took my wine glass out to the parking lot to thank the nice man and sat down on an upturned wine crate near the dumpster in a good patch of sunshine. I closed my eyes for a few moments to make sure I would remember it. While working on Saturdays will never be my favorite thing, I've always managed to get good perks one way or another.

Back when I could barely tell a red from a white, I had a roommate who gave me a wine of the month membership for Christmas. We were twenty-three. He was a good but complicated roommate. He was the kind of guy who, on paper, was a dream. He was tall and cute enough, successful in his career. He was empathetic and kind. In reality and not on paper, he was the worst storyteller in the world. You could fall asleep listening to him and your heart would sink every time he piped up. He couldn't tell a joke, ever. He'd fuck up the timing or laugh on the punch line. He told the same stories, with the same phrasing and the same emphasis over and over. He told stories about his high school job and his father - terrible stories. He did the dishes though, always paid the bills and once walked to meet me at the bus stop when a creepy guy was staring me down on the bus. Together we created a tenuous little unit of lonely young people who helped each other out and shared pasta and toilet paper.

Following nature's laws of futility and annoyance, my roommate developed a crush on me. He never hit on me, but he started giving me gifts. He gave me pretty agate earrings on the fourth of July. He couldn't hide anything and began to stare at me dreamily. Our mutual friends started to notice. Even the way he said my name changed and it began to bug the hell out of me.

I knew it was time to change, so I moved out and got my own place at the end of the lease. We slowly lost contact. The last time I saw him was a couple years ago at a barbecue when he introduced me to his date. She was dull and cutish. She laughed at his botched delivery and hung on every word of his God awful stories. She gave the precautionary stink eye that women do when they meet a date's female ex-roommate. The eye quickly judged if we ever slept together. The eye said, "You had your chance and yeah, I know you lived together. I know he says you were never involved, but just in case you didn't realize. He's mine now." It happened in a flash and I had to pretend I didn't see it at all. For the rest of the night, they just grinned at one another and I knew it then.

Yesterday, I got the wedding invitation in the mail. They're getting married at a winery in October. I will go and wish them the best.

My boyfriend and I have been together three and a half years and people (mostly parental people) have begun to ask about our marriage plans. It is funny for me to see other people with shorter relationships getting married, especially when I think they are a good match. It doesn't feel like our time just yet. Somehow, buying a house seems like the right move. A wedding doesn't. I feel like I would marry him tomorrow but that there's no rush. I do wish Roomie and Stink Eye the very best of luck.