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This is by far one of my favorite holidays of the year: Irish music, Irish potatoes, and a great excuse to be drunk. So I’ll be going out with some of my favorite guys to celebrate today. We’re already planning with Irish coffee, car bombes, and Guinness.
So go ahead and enjoy this video I came across a year or so ago. Happy Saint Patrick’s Day!
Do you wanna know the best way to determine if you are a possible contender in the World’s Worst Blogger contest? It’s this:
When you can say that the majority of traffic to your site is directed from Google searches for “finger cots”, “finger condoms”, and “cocaine stash necklace” (by the way, wtf? I at least know where the finger cots reference came from).
Close runner up: Realizing that the only comments to the site have to do with enlarging my penis.
So I’ve been gone for a bit. But. BUT! I have reasoning. Don’t I always? I could blame The Plague that has hit the office, or the training of the Newbies at work (onE of which actually brought The Plague with her), or the fact that I have to train one of the Newbies on top of my already intense case load. Stupid reasons, right?
The truth is that I always get the best ideas for my blog when I’m driving, when I hear songs on the radio. And by the time I’m actually at home, I completely forget just how I’d worded it. Also? I didn’t want to be all melodramatic on here anymore. I always come back to that and I always will, but it’s so not fun to read.
And there are a plenty of other things I’ve wanted to write about in the past week.
Like the fact that I spent my Plague Day at home in bed (I slept 20 hours with this thing!) and ended up watching almost all of Seasons two and three of The Office during that (which sounds terrible, I know). The result? I am madly in love with Jim Halpert, especially in this scene:
You know the one where he finally grows the balls to tell Pam that he’s in love with her? My heart broke just a little. I think every girl wants to be the Pam to some guy’s Jim.
Other things I’ve learned this week, in no particular order:
1. Always make sure you know who you’re talking to in your office. You may be joking around about drawing some random guy in your office a tattoo for him to get, but then you’ll realize that he’s your boss’ boss’s boss’ boss. It is always bad.
2. If an ex’s best friend jokes about you sending naked pictures and then continues the “joke” over numerous messages? Bring up guns and how you love to shoot them.
3. Never, ever get to a point where you’re out at a bar with two of your best guy friends and, when some random guy hits on you, they respond with “you don’t want her, she’s basically a guy.”
4. A shopping trip to J.Crew makes everything better.
5. When your boss has a baby, don’t respond with “it’s cute”. Apparently new parents are testy about the lack of gender implications with the word “it”.
6. Make up for it by buying the Bossman a few children’s books.
So I’m finally on the other side of a five-day late night work schedule. Let me tell you… getting home at midnight for five days really smashes your internal clock. I’ve been getting to bed around 3 am, waking up at 10 only to hop in the shower, throw on a suit, and head back into work. It’s been completely worth it though, and I closed a great one lat night. I know I’m about to get twenty times busier at work.
Last Friday one of my coworkers was fired. It was kind of upsetting because he was a good friend and he’d come into the center on my recommendation. The firing wasn’t because of the economy- in fact we’re starting two new people next week- but rather because he wasn’t able to pick up the work. So right now, where we should have six people in my position we have three. And on top of the piled up work, I’ll be training a new person for the next month.
I haven’t wanted to sit in front of a computer on my day off mostly because I stare at four screens for most of the day. But tonight I was checking Facebook (of which the lovely Molly wrote a hysterical piece on today) and saw that a friend had filled out one of those “25 things you never wanted to know about me” lists. This one was a Bucket List, where you mark an X alongside the things you’ve done. This isn’t about writing one of those, because I’m still not sure about bucket lists. One of the items on that list was “Watched the sunrise with someone else”.
My freshman year of college, my best friends were a group of guys who eventually ended up in the same fraternity. They lived in the same dorm across campus and I spent the majority of my spare time in one of their rooms. It wasn’t strange for me to come back from crew practice and, still in spandex, sprawl across one of their futons.
Most of my favorite memories from college were with these boys, one of which popped back into my head when I read that. I remember one night that started out as ordinary. Two of my guys, Boo and Boston, and I sat on one of their futons watching a movie. It was the same old ritual, and we probably had beer cans or whiskey in front of us on the table. I still can’t remember who made the suggestion to leave, to go out. A few moments later, with a backpack full of beer, we were on the pavement in late summer air. We were new to the town, and quickly got lost in the graveyard of the town. In most senses this would probably seem grotesque, but it was calm. The three of us sat on an empty hill in that graveyard away from the graves.
I’ll never remember what we talked about all night, but we stayed there for hours. Boston made the suggestion to go home, but Boo and I liked the novelty of staying out all night. It was college,after all, we were still in the early phase of testing the boundaries.
We were quiet, probably from exhaustion, when the sky did start to lighten. The three of us were laid out on the grass watching, still passing the nearly empty bottle between us. By the time the sky was pink we were dusting the grass off of our legs, back onto the pavement and heading back to the dorms.
I don’t think I’ll ever have another night like that, and that’s something I’ve missed greatly in the years after college. The most I had to do the next morning was get to an eleven o’clock class, and I’m sure I slept right through that. I never thought that I’d miss something to inane as a watching the sun rise but I do. And I think I’ve been needing something like this again.
What about you guys- have you ever seen watched the sun rise with someone else?
I spent my Valentine’s Day exactly how I wanted to be spending it this year- at work. My boss hesitantly asked me to do a few surveillances this weekend and I jumped at the opportunity. As much as I love being single and not having to worry about the psychology of a relationship, there’s no denying the impact that the holiday has on people. There’s really no way to not feel as though you’re missing a large chunk of your life on this day. And it’s really so much easier not to think about that when you’re nose-deep in an investigation.
The investigator I was working with was actually in another location for the same surveillance, so we had our speakerphones on for the last few hours. This investigator is my age and is engaged- one of those engagements where you fall in love with hearing stories about the two of them. He’s one of those rare genuine people, and the way he speaks about her is with utter respect and admiration.
In one of the slower parts of the night, I asked him how she felt about them spending the day apart. It launched first the story of what he did for her as a gift (which was one of the most caring things I’ve ever heard). Then he said, “You know, I’ll never forget the day I asked her out…” and he told me- down to the day, the hour, what he was wearing, how her voice sounded- about that night. He knew every minute detail with such delicacy that you knew the importance that day had on him. I pointed out how envious I was of that, and he said, “Don’t you have anything like that?”
I remember that my first real boyfriend was actually accidental and that I regretted dating him and losing a best friend in the process. I remember sneaking out of my house to meet the second, but could never tell dates or exact details. The third boyfriend, I remember our first kiss outside of my house, but the date is lost on me. So on, and so on.
And then I remembered a date. Driving to the movies. Wearing my favorite J.Crew jeans (which are absolutely tattered and I still haven’t thrown them out) and a black v-neck. I remember every detail of those first nights.
“I guess one,” I told the investigator. I told him that I even remembered my clothes from that night, the speeding ticket.
He laughed, said, “then that’s your one.”
I love my job, I really do. I love the intensity of an investigation. I love the moment just before an apprehension, where all of the blood in your body is throbbing in your head. I love knowing why people do what they do, why they choose to make horrible decisions. The more complicated a case, the more I love it. If I could bring my dog to work and had a treadmill somewhere, I’m sure I’d stay in the office around the clock.
But with any job, there are a couple negatives. One of the worst, one that hits with every job in this field, is the inability to talk about what you do. Not to say that what I do is a measure of national security- another note I’ll hit on in a moment- but that anything I say could compromise a case. If I were casually going about the details of a case to a friend in a bar, anyone could hear. And who knows who else is on the bar stool down the row?
The second point is something that I just touched on. As much as I love what I do, I don’t feel as though it’s terribly important. That’s a lie- I know it’s important, but it doesn’t affect the country as a whole. It doesn’t save lives, it doesn’t really change lives even. A coworker said the same thing the other day- “do you really feel like we’re making a difference?” I shrugged my shoulders at him- at least he understands.
My boss says that I’m bloodthirsty, something he likes about me. It’s true- I’m one of those people that loves drinking a fourth coffee so that I can stay later to review documents. I know that I’m going to go federal soon enough, but I can’t wait to get there. I always phrase it the same way: Imagine the one place you’ve wanted to go for your entire life, and then imagine that you actually get the opportunity to go there. You’ve paid for the flight, packed your bags, prepared in every way possible. But you don’t leave for another two weeks. The wait is absolutely killing me, and I pretty much have a stare down with my phone waiting for it to ring the 000-000-0000 number every day.
In the meantime, I should note that the two factors of working constantly and not being able to talk about work are highly detrimental to the blog. I need new things to write about. Any ideas?
The other night I was alone in the office and my Blackberry pinged at me. The message was from a guy I’d met once through the Perfect Guy- one of his friends from back home. I had met him when Perfect Guy (thanks for the name, asshole commenter!) and I went out for dinner with him and had gone to a bar afterwards. This friend had needed my number because he didn’t know the Philly area and, as he was following me, was afraid he’d get lost.
The message was strange, asking me to come to his hometown (three hours away!) and be his date for New Year’s. I read it about six times and finally responded with the only conclusion I could come up with: “what the fuck?” This of course sparked some texting revelation about how he thought I was hot, and that he’d had fun with me the night we went out. Three months ago. I finally asked him if he’d talked to Perfect Guy about this, which he hadn’t. “So he hasn’t told you that I spilled my guts to him about being infatuated with him?” There was about a twenty minute pause between that and the next: “You’re crazy. He has a gf.” Duh. And where do you get off telling me I’m crazy for liking a guy that I’ve known for months and spent a ton of time with, when you’re texting some chick you met ONCE to drive 300 MILES to see you?
I actually had a great excuse for not going, aside from it being incredibly creepy. I ended up driving out to spend the night with an old boyfriend and some other friends from college. The old boyfriend’s parents have this gorgeous cabin on the side of a mountain in the middle of PA, so spending some time in the hot tub overlooking the river below while snow fell outside was a great way to ring in the new year.
Another great way to ring in the new year? A new car:
My old Jeep was starting to give me trouble and I fell madly in love with this one.
Also, a new apartment. The move is definitely in the works and I spent all morning viewing (and consequently falling in love) with this gorgeous apartment near the Art Museum. Blue bedrooms with white molding along the edges, a kitchen with granite countertops, tile floors, and all brand-new stainless steel appliances. The best part was that the back bedroom had a door leading out into an enclosed courtyard- perfect for summer barbeques and a hammock.
2009 is definitely going to bring some great changes.
I’ve had this blog for a few months short of two years, which is saying a lot for me. I can’t remember writing the first post that I wrote on here, but I can remember cringing at it a year ago thinking, “god, I’m awkward.” I remember how the formation of this blog fit into my life and, of course, I remember the particular circumstances of my relationships at the time.
I had just broken up with Country, a relationship that neither of us were really comfortable with but I stayed in for the intrigue. As I’ve mentioned before, Country and I had zilch in common. But waking up at place on the bay, climbing from bed to let my new puppy out onto the grass to pee, having him wrap a blanket around both of our shoulders as we looked out onto the fog over the water. It was a relationship so wrong for me, one that had been protested by my friends to a point where many of them ostracized me. My friend FaveDave had a different view on it: a few days after the break up, he harshly critiqued me on romantic needs. He said that not only did I always have a need to be in a relationship, but that I always had a need to be in one that had twinge of drama. I was so hurt that day, and I remember that this blog was conceived in the wake of that speech as a way for me to commiserate.
I’d like to say that it didn’t take two years for FaveDave’s words to settle in. I wouldn’t say that his first statement was true; in fact I rather much prefer times of being single. But the latter is right on target. I’ll be open about this: in the past I’ve dated lecturing professors and coaches at my college, my engaged -and now married- boss (remember that debacle?). I’ve been in love with the same guy for the past five years because of how horrible it is; the more my friends grow to hate him, the more I want to be with him. The less he cares for me, the more I care for him. Part of me even stretches to think that the real reason I stayed with Pittsburgh Boy for so long was because the distance added the dramatic flair to an otherwise normal relationship.
So I guess this is why my friends rolled their eyes at the latest one. I guess it’s also why I’ve been hesitant to write about it, knowing that my readers veer on the intelligent and highly observant side. I’ve been struggling to determine whether this is an actual thing for me, or whether it’s just because there’s intrigue. And in that same sense, it’s not ever going to happen. Because he has a girlfriend.
I met the kid in class. I think I’ve had other classes with him before but I really only remember him from this one. Physically he’s my “type”, if I ever were to have a type. He’s handsome, but probably not someone that other girls would look at for more than a brief moment. I don’t even know what the draw is for me- maybe the fact that he’s brilliant and directed towards the same field that I am. Or the fact that he’s fluent in language that I hardly knew existed prior to him telling me. And the way he became fluent? Was by doing volunteer work with the country. We went through a week of spending almost night hanging out and it was on the verge of painful.
Here’s where it links back to my need for things I can’t have: the guy is upstanding and has never, ever given me the impression that anything would ever happen. Don’t get me wrong- I learned my lesson last year and would never push for something with someone in a relationship. But the more I pushed it out of my head, the harder it fought to get back in. It’s been this delicate, unspoken tango that culminated the other day in me, in drunken stupor, telling him.
I think this whole thing could have been chopped down into a few short statements: Caitlyn meets Perfect Guy. Caitlyn falls for Perfect Guy, finds out he has girlfriend. Caitlyn tries to ignore, becomes obsessed. Rejection ensues.
I gotta say, I’ve never been so disappointed in California. I’m sure all of you know by now that in this past weeks election the state of California had several propositions to vote upon that have made national headlines. The most prominent of them was Proposition 8, which would reverse a Supreme Court ruling from May allowing gay couples the right to wed. On the same ballot where Californians voted for higher animal rights, over 52 percent voted to ban gay marriage.
My uncles were married a few years ago; almost immediately after Oregon announced the allowance of gay marriage my uncle bought to plane tickets and flew them out there. None of our family knew, though I remember shrieking with excitement when I found out that they had married. My uncles had been together over 20 years at that point, long enough that I had barely been alive when they met. In the email announcement following their marriage, my uncle joked that they had told an antiques dealer that they were getting married. “Why would you guys want marriage?” he asked, adding, “Believe me, you’re going to want to give that right back after your husband starts nagging.”
My uncle also made an amazing point in his email, one I’ve heard reiterated throughout this week: we’re not allowing a large portion of the country the rights to a basic civil liberty. We have a country based off of equal rights and equal abilities for all citizens. We even have liberties alotted to illegal immigrants. We just voted in the first black man to presidency. And yet gay marriage is something that we struggle with every single day.
How can people still deny homosexuality, calling it a phase or an abomination? I’m sick of hearing “…but the Bible says” or the ever-popular “it’s Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve.” If people are still living the Bible line by line, they have plenty of other issues to consider first. In a quick side-rant, I have an associate who is probably the best example of the anti-Christian. She drinks, curses, smokes, has a bit more than her fair share of premarital sex. And yet she resorts back to the Bible regarding gay marriage, spouting that God hadn’t intended for gay marriage because their bodies don’t “fit”.
Years from now we’ll look back on this and wonder what we were thinking. Our grandchildren will want to know how we though that homosexuality was different, how we thought that we were able to stop love by banning the religious union. I still laugh at my crazy racist grandmother for having thought that the color of one’s skin determined their character.
I’m going to bring this down to the most general idea that I have regarding gay marriage and heterosexual marriage: when you parse out the infamous images of politicians having gay relationships, or of pop stars and drunken college girls at frat parties making out, you see that they’re based upon the essential foundation of love. Gay couples fall in love, they fall out of love. They cheat and they break up; they make out on dates and care for each other when their partner is sick. They buy gifts for each other, they write songs for their lover. They love.
This week I was made lead analyst on the largest case in our corporation, which is going to be a huge undertaking. On top of that (I don’t know if ya’ll heard) but the PHILLIES WON THE WORLD SERIES! I specifically chose not to write about it during the series because I get into the whole superstition bit- last year I wrote about it and on the very same night they lost a game. Call me crazy (I am), but I couldn’t jinx it.
So to end that happy mass, today is the election. I’ve been up since 5 am with all of my info packed. I’m wearing my white J.Crew button down tucked into my red wool J.Crew a-line skirt with blue pumps. So I know I don’t have to tell all of you smart blog-land people, but get out and vote! Regardless of who you’re voting for, wait in the lines. Oh, and if you’re the rare California reader- no on Prop 8!