The Work Crush

I recently got a new job. Before I started, I told myself this would be a career move and I would not be distracted by the hundreds of sexy bankers in my building.

The girl I'd be replacing gave me a brief orientation, and I met some of the team members. Including the twenty-something who'd be my new neighbor (as in directly to the left of me!). He stood up, smiled big, and enthusiastically shook my hand.

A few days later, I took over at my spiffy new desk on a 900-person trading floor. I was unfortunately without computer log on information, so I diligently observed my coworker, Avery (who sits to my right). And I began chatting up that incredibly cute neighbor on my left.

I found out in our many conversations that he'd played hockey at Yale and was from outside of Boston. We had a lot in common and frequently discussed the bar scene at our respective colleges. I quickly realized that aside from some very nicely shaped buns, he was funny and carried with him lots of random facts.

Uh oh.

Soon after IT got my computer up and running, Yale asked for some assistance. I jumped at the opportunity to a) help him and b) attempt to prove myself. While explaining a project, he leaned over me, grabbing my mouse to demonstrate where to click.

I pictured the 898 people around us clearing out immediately so I could have my way with him.

The days went on. We reminisced about college, exchanged stories of the weekend, and commiserated over dried-out contact lenses.

While on our way to happy hour one evening, Avery, my boss, and our fourth admin team member pointed out to me that Yale would be perfect for me. Avery heard our day to day banter, and assured me that he liked me. She even said that prior to my arrival, he was often quiet and hadn't talked to many people as much as he talked to me. I laughed it off and said yes, I'd be interested but thought the girls were perhaps reading into him too much. I thought he was just chatting. Was I making a weak attempt to be career oriented?

A few weeks into our gig, Yale got a seating upgrade and moved a few rows over to more prime real estate. How would I make excuses interact with him now?

Luckily, I didn't have to. Whenever he needed an admin task taken care of, he popped right over. He always replied to my standard e-mail messages with an enthusiastic Thank you! Or even a clever conversation starter. During one of his standard visits, my coworker joked with me via IM that my 'boyfriend was standing behind me'. I responded with a 'lol' and said that if he was in fact interested, he could do something about it. Always wise, she then told me he's probably afraid since employees aren't allowed to date within their department.

Of course. Why did I think I'd have a shot?

Oddly enough, this newest Ivy League work crush was beginning to freakishly remind me of my previous crush on Cornell. I had a reason to look fabulous and someone to look forward to seeing everyday. Though with Yale, it was more friendly than flirty (plus we've yet to have an opportunity to openly flirt without numerous people listening). Despite how cute Yale is and how much I enjoy our exchanges, I'm beginning to wonder if these work crushes develop for a different reason than their utter adorableness.

A Glamour article I read discussed how many of us go for unavailable guys. Have I developed these crushes on coworkers because I know (somewhere in the back of my mind) that the odds of a work crush, even a mutual one, leading to anything beyond just a crush are slim to none? Does toying with the idea of what could be actually garner more excitement than if I had a real shot with this guy? Since thinking about it, I tell myself not to bother even trying to flirt with Yale. Really what's the point? We talk about our weekends and I walk (strut) away, trying not to linger for too long.

But then he'll take an unexpected stroll over to my desk to "check on" the project I'm doing for him. Or walk into the kitchen just seconds after I do. Or e-mail me with a question that could have easily waited until Monday. Excuses to say hi? Not sure. But I can't even pretend I'm not crushing when I find my fingers twisting my ponytail and an unusually girlish giggle coming out of me. Whether it's because he's a great guy or because he's unavailable, I don't know. But for now, at least he can brighten up a boring work day.

Tradition Turns... Sloppy

Remember last year when at our area Saint Paddy's Day Parade I got hammered and hooked up in a hotel lobby?

This year, inclement weather kept us from wandering too much, and we remained in the same bar for hours on end. We started drinking around 11 am and I guzzled beer after beer. Pacing myself? Not an option for this event.

Needless to say, by early afternoon I had developed a buzz and was feelin' pretty good. The bar was beginning to get crowded and I was running into acquaintance after acquaintance. After all my friends had gathered, we took our traditional car bombs. When Belinda couldn't finish hers, she gave it to me.

Uh oh.

My hand never void of a beer, I danced around like my usual self. Though drunk, I was also on a natural high since I was so excited that all my close friends were together for this annual event. Always on the prowl, I decided it was necessary to find someone nearby to make out with. Though the guy I was sort of seeing was in the other room of the bar, he wasn't doing it for me that day. Instead, I began getting touchy with one of the guys from our crew. This member of our crew, Marty, happened to be a guy I dated in high school for all of two weeks.

The rest of the afternoon is a bit fuzzy, and I ended up going to that guy I was seeing's apartment for a drunken rendezvous. Definitely nowhere near Marty.

The next morning, I woke up feeling like I'd gotten hit by a train. And while riding said train to work, Janelle informed me that I had made out with Marty.

I suddenly had a moment of clarity.

I looked at my cell phone and saw the outgoing text I was dreading.

"Sex?", sent to Marty at approximately 4:23 pm.

I deleted it, hoping that if it was erased from my phone maybe it'd be erased from memory as well.

Alright so, drunken me made a text proposition. To a guy I had no interest in, unless I had +/- 10 drinks in my system. Who I see frequently. And I was probably within three feet of him when I pressed send.

At least I was direct with my proposal.

I tried to forget, and luckily have yet to have any awkward encounters with Marty. And the girls have reassured me that he was probably just as drunk as I was. Phew. Maybe he forgot he ever recieved it. Even better, maybe he'd never gotten it!

Weeks later, I had moved on from the whole incident. That is until Porter made reference to my erased text.

Another parade day I'll just never live down.

The Dating Dilemma

My cousin is getting married in a few weeks. Tonight, I am forced to miss three of my good friends' joint birthday party to prepare for tomorrow's shower. Heaven forbid I show up to the shower with the unpleasant grimace of a hangover.

In any case, I suppose I'll just celebrate with the girls another night. But I, at age 23.5, am invited under the umbrella of my parents. And while I'm happy about not having to purchase gifts on my own limited funds, this also eliminates any possibility of bringing a date.

Fret not, there's no one I have an interest in taking. In fact, I thought intensely about who I would bring should I have the option. Would I really like to bring a guy around my ENTIRE extended family? Especially one who isn't my boyfriend? Or unlikely ever going to become my boyfriend? And then bear the questions about him for months (if not years) to come? Unlikely. But what if I did have someone in mind, and didn't have the option to take him. Even if I thought he could handle a bunch of wacky drunks, would I want to bear the thought of answering endless questions? I don't know. But I guess I won't have to worry about it, either.

Double Blind

Janelle has been talking to a friend of a friend via text. They made plans to meet up last night. I think both Janelle and "Kevin" believed this might be an awkward first meeting, so they each decided to bring a friend. Always ready for an adventure and sans other plans, I excitedly agreed.

How bad could it be after all?

All I knew about the kid was that he was apparently funny and had red hair. We will call him "Doug". Janelle barely knew "Kevin" anyway, and we figured we'd save questions involving work and hobbies for the bar.

We arrived, dressed to the nines (figuring we'd want to look good if we had to escape) at a relatively casual bar. We began with a rather normal introduction. Unfortunately "Doug" was not remotely my type. Janelle lucked out, but neither seemed to be a great catch. We arrived and they'd already had three rounds, "Doug's" choice of drink being Disaronno on the rocks. Seriously? Amaretto?

I tried to think positive.

We ordered our vodka tonics for ourselves and neither guy even offered to pay. We discussed work, and mentioned our administrative jobs at pretty major financial firms. Both guys looked dumb founded and hadn't heard of either. Perplexed, I made my usual witty jokes. Few of which garnered laughs from the Red. He mostly looked confused and seriously didn't know what house music was.

One vodka tonic quickly turned into four. "Kevin" was generous enough to buy a round of shots also.

Finally we left the first bar and moved onto another with more of a party atmosphere. And an incredibly favorable girl:guy ratio.

Janelle and I ordered another drink, and "Doug" ran off to find his man crush.

YES!

Freed of this roundish and fire-colored burden, I looked around and tried to pick out someone more attractive and on my level of normalcy. I chatted it up with a few of the guys, exchanging numbers with one (a cage fighter whose abs felt rock hard through his shirt). I danced around, chugged beers with a new friend, and snapped pics of Janelle and "Kevin" making out at the bar.

At least one of us was getting lucky.

Soon after I forgot about "Doug", the lights went on and the bouncers ushered us out of the bar. I found Janelle and "Kevin" and was then forced to walk back to the car with them and "Doug".

Gag.

I tried to jump into the passengers seat as quickly as I could, but "Doug" pulled me back. He instructed me to give Janelle and "Kevin" some alone time before they left.

Gag.

He then pushed me up against a neighboring SUV and told me to kiss him. WHAT? I refused and tried moving around. He went in for the smooch, and when I pulled away, he tried again.

OHMYGOD.

Never again.

The Leach

Janelle is one of my best friends, and one with whom I usually have successful manhunting adventures. She is much more a relationship person than yours truly, and even refers to some of our Single Friend adventures as "husband hunting". Though neither of us are ready for a sparkly rock, she does bring up a good point in looking for a guy who isn't going to be just a fling.

Well, around New Year's... She found one.

They began with a whirlwind romance. Texting and calling each other regularly, planning their Valentine's Day getaway, and even (prematurely) meeting each other's parents.

Janelle was happy with this situation. She liked him and saw that he had potential. I witnessed some uber-adorable PDA and, though happy for Janelle, was concerned I would be losing one of my few Single Friends.

That is until they had sex.

The guy came to visit her on a Sunday, which they spent having brunch with another couple and wandering around the city. Throughout their day, they (attempted) intercourse FIVE times. And each time, poor Janelle barely got off before it was over. Two minutes. Done and done. So in one day they had sex for a total of ten minutes.

So much for that perfectly (if not too quickly) blossoming relationship. Thank God she took the car for a test drive.

At this point poor Janelle was unbelievably turned off. She wanted to give him the axe. How could this work if the sex was so TERRIBLE?

Belinda and I kind of felt bad for the guy. Janelle has to be the hottest girl he's ever hooked up wth. He was surely nervous and intimidated. And he was great in every other aspect, so why not give him a shot?

I will tell you why. Note that this was +/-3 Weeks into their "relationship" and he was already calling her his girlfriend. To complete strangers. And to Janelle. Problem #2? Yes.

And there was more. When Two Minute Man came to visit Janelle another time, he parked in a garage where he had to give the attendant his keys. Upon returning to his car, he noticed his bag of pot and pool stick were missing. (Pool stick? Appparently he's really into playing pool. Put this on the Cons list as well). A couple days went by and Janelle hadn't really been as warm as fuzzy as before, trying to detach herself slowly and avoid hurt feelings.

A bunch of us were at a bar watching the NFL Playoffs, eating, drinking, and having a great time. Well, Two Minute Man realized he was incredibly angry about his pot getting stolen. Dumbass. So while we're trying to enjoy Sunday Funday, Two Minute Man was NONSTOP texting Janelle, saying he was going drive an hour to beat up the parking garage attendant and asking her to leave the bar. She was giving him the cold shoulder and he wasn't getting it. Trying to calm him down and it wasn't working. Two Minute was turning into a leach.

This continued throughout the entire afternoon. He would call, she would try her best to be nice but firm. But essentially, the Two Minute LEACH was driving her crazy. I was starting to understand her frustration. He was latching on AND bad in bed? No good. Utterly terrible if you ask me.

This nonsense continued for a few more days. The Leach incessantly called, texted, etc. He was even bothering Janelle at work on numerous occassions when she wasn't immediately responding to his texts. Clearly he wasn't getting it. Claiming she was uber busy and couldn't talk at work, she began to "dump him" via text.

After three weeks of not really dating, you aren't technically dumping someone after all.

Once again, the Leach failed to understand that there might be an issue. He proceeded to tell Janelle that she was perfect and everything he was looking for. She became more and more disgusted with his nonsense and had to start getting mean. And he still wasn't getting it. This went on for far too long, until Leach decided to give up with Janelle and call her best friend Lila for a more in depth explanation.

Poor Lila had to try to smooth things over while somehow getting the Leach to understand Janelle was done with him.

Yet even still, he wasn't getting it. Two weeks after she had stopped talking to him, she was home for a party. He was asking if he could come see her after work.

The Leach is either dumb or oblivious, but she gave up on even answering his desperate texts.

Sad, really. Since the Leach had such potential. But it does make me wonder if we girls seem this pathetic when we aren't getting the hint. I mean, she told him straight out she didn't want to do whatever they were doing anymore. But he still wanted to try, try again. Was he genuinely that interested in her or just bothered that he was (harshly) rejected? Either way, things may have moved a bit fast. I just hope I'm never as dumb as the Leach.

Turned Tables?

My best guy friend Porter has a friend, Dirk, who has become a part of our core group over the last couple of years. So we have developed a friendship as well. Nothing out of the ordinary. He's offered career advice and what not, and I'm pretty sure until recently he thought I was an out of control wild child. I've asked him to lunch, not thinking it was anything but platonic.

But then a few times he asked what I was doing and to hang out. Uh oh. Was he crushing on me and thinking my touchy nature meant I was flirting? Or just desperate for a new friend who was chatty and revealed her entire life story on one train ride? Not sure. He often made half-serious self-depreciating remarks and still whined over his ex-girlfriend a year later.

Seraphina tried to encourage me to go out with him. I was completely disturbed by this idea. Not only was he freakishly nerdy, he was very much like my dad. Some say this is a good thing. The similarities were not attractive. Especially since their wardrobes were almost exactly the same despite a thirty year age gap. And when I was bringing up all the reasons why I would NEVER date Dirk, Seraphina said "well, he doesn't like to go out".

DING, DING, DING! If that's not a red flag, then I don't know what is. Granted I'm not trying to date someone as crazy as I am (that would be toxic) but Dirk is the guy who sits in the corner alone! And cries over an ex? Even worse. It's just crazy to me that this one time a guy is maybe interested, and actually knows me for ME...Not the crazy girl at the bar, he's an utter disaster. No self esteem and an emo? No thanks.

Life Lessons

On a whim, I decided to order some dating advice books from Amazon.com. While I frequent the library, I am far too ashamed to check out Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man. I will keep y'all posted as to what tips these genius authors have to offer.

Jekyll & Hyde

So after my blackout hookup (does it qualify as a hook up?) with Cornell and thinking back on past situations that were not dissimilar, I have concluded that I am a drunk slut.

No, but really. Sober I am a good girl who can say no with conviction no matter how badly I'd like to get in a boy's pants. I'm smart, polite and even rather articulate. But drunk me lacks all control and logic, and is more often than not freakishly horny.

Bad? Not for the guys on the recieving end. But for me, the next morning is always a painful puzzle. I am missing sections and piecing together how one thing led to another and why my clothes are on the floor rather than my body. In college, I found this perfectly acceptable. But now, a year and a half after recieving that life-altering diploma, I am starting to lose respect for myself. While these hookups now occur once every few months, when I find an occasion worthy of drinking to forget, I am still bothered by the mere thought of it happening again. But yet, it always does. Sober me freaks out about what a horrible impression I've made and how publicly embarassing I probably acted. Nevermind the whole one-night-standish-thing: the being "easy". Too much liquid courage and all shame is out the door. I'd like to think others involved can separate these two me's from each other, but I know this is not the case. I'm just hoping that perhaps the new year will mean the end of my blackout hookups; that I've learned my lesson and I can start fresh. Unfortunately, there are a few too many guys who experienced me blackout and while I don't remember a thing, I'm sure they always will.

The Aftermath

I have already concluded that I crush too hard. Over the weekend after I texted Cornell (and his responses were normal), I wasn't feeling so full of regret. But now I keep thinking that I screwed it all up. I got drunk and publicly assaulted the kid, and gave most everything up the first time we hung out alone. I figure he won't be calling. I mean, why would he?

Obviously I can't turn back time. And had I not thought he were a decent guy, I wouldn't care. But I tried and then I messed up and I guess now I just have to deal with it. And try not to screw it up again when someone new comes along.

Minor Vindication?

I went out with Seraphina and her ex-but-current boyfriend last night, to the same place where Middlebury, Cornell and I had a snack and a shot. Figuring it couldn't hurt, I asked the waiter if perhaps a black velvet blazer had been left behind a couple nights before?

A moment later he appeared, a vision in an apron, toting my lost jacket.

So obviously I had to text Cornell to inform him.

He responded right away and we kept the convo short. But of course, he was just so damn sweet again. Perhaps I confuse his nice-ness with his liking me, I don't know. But now that my jacket has miraculously appeared (and Cornell acted normal via text), I feel slightly less filled with regret. Obviously, the post cocktail party behavior was not my best. But I am no longer out a hundred bucks, and I didn't have to feel like a pscyho when texting Cornell. Granted, I still hope he calls (he won't). And even if he still has my panties, I declare it his loss.