Should I Be This Scared?

I've found myself flying pretty much solo at several social events in the past two weeks. Well, three, to be exact.

At the first*, a happy hour, I met a few people (4). I talked easily to the first soon after entering the bar. The others I met a little later. Two of them said they would offer their expertise in the apartment hunt (so far, one has). The last vowed to join me and a new associate in an upcoming social endeavor. I've yet to call. (But I will! I will!)

I was invited to the second event by one of the hosts**. I knew no one save this host, and, being that he was a host, I didn't expect constant entertainment. My feelings on the event are mixed. I met a (small) handful of pretty cool people (again, 4), but the majority of the guests did not seem to be people I'd ever get along with. After a few good hours with the few cool people, I found myself pretty much alone with the not-so-cool people while waiting for a ride. The night actually ended with me feeling very much like a junior high reject with acne, bad breath, and head gear. Perhaps I digress...

The third event was completely random.

Opposed to spending yet another Friday night entertaining Roommate's parents while she was off on date*** and semi****-stood-up by my partner in crime for the evening, I headed to the bar solo.

I've been to this bar a few times before with Quicksylver. The first night we went was our waitress's first night as well. We'll call her Saronno. Despite Quicksylver's initial insistence that she was just being nice to get tips, we hit it off really well and have since talked about hanging out together.

Anyhow, Saronno was at the bar when I showed up Friday, but she wasn't working. She invited me to a small get-together she was planning to hit up before heading to a bigger, swankier party later on. I accepted her invitation.

She and I were the first to arrive. I kicked a little ass on the Wii***** then we moved on to the beer pong. (At which I also kicked more than my fair share of ass, if I do say so myself.) Saronno left, and I was totally fine. Got along with everyone there. Had a fantastic time. Hope to see all the players of the night again in a similar setting.

Before I accepted Saronno's invitation, though, I was prepared to call myself socially awkward. I'd even begun a post describing myself as such and outlining all the ways in which I'd changed that made me feel like I was the social reject.

But, now? I'm not thinking so much in terms of my morphing into a socially awkward woman in her mid twenties as I am thinking of me fucking putting myself out there. Trying to meet new people. Failing at times, perhaps. Succeeding at others, perhaps.

Attending social events and trying to meet people on your own is a scary proposition.

I really have nothing more profound to say on the subject.


* I have to admit, I primarily went to see a boy. The boy was not there. The boy does not yet get a name.
** The host is the aforementioned boy. He still doesn't get a name.
*** Both completely okay by me, by the way.
**** "Semi" because I don't really blame him.
***** I'm saying right now I'd be totally addicted if given the opportunity. That shit rocks. And, no, spending $400-500 on that shit is not an option for opportunity for this chica.

Some Notes on the Office Move

- Changing one address to another on 400+ pages of my company's extremely convoluted Web site is slightly more therapeutically mind-numbing and less annoyingly nerve-wracking than I initially predicted. I will probably be at this for the better part of the week.


- Despite the office move being delayed numerous times for a total of several months, not one of the floors of our new space is what we can call, um, completely finished. The construction workers are still wearing hard hats. Walking through a space with no ceiling tiles a bit ago, I wondered if I should be as well.


- Our new phone system is super sleek and cool. Unfortunately, we weren't given adequate instructions for using the phones or the system. My boss hung up on someone I was talking to today when he pointed to a button on the super sleek and cool phone (which is, apparently, highly touch-sensitive). And after attempting to enter my extension and password several times, I locked myself out of my voicemail account. So much for keeping up business as usual.


- Our nifty balcony seating area is completely closed. My prediction for its opening? No sooner than the time the leaves start falling.


- My cube* is located just at the entrance of our department. By the doors nearest the elevator. Already nearly everyone who has walked through the door has described to me, in detail, their technical problems. I never have the answer. Ever. I've been requesting a different cube since before the move. There are empty cubes. I am not allowed to move. I'm am not a happy camper.


- The new seating location also puts me just around the corner from a man who's always telling me how sexy I am. How fine. And how he'd say all kinds of things to me if he weren't married (which he then proceeds to say anyway). He's been in my cube no less than 10 times already today. I don't foresee that volume decreasing any time soon.

- The bathrooms have full walls and doors instead of stupid stalls where the person next to you is always trying to quietly take a shit and you always find yourself looking over at her shoes and thinking, Why'd I have to look so I'd know who that is? Now I'll just be weird around her all day.

- Above the toilet, there are two silver buttons. One looks slightly different than the other. After my initial response, which was something akin to Sylvester Stallone's character's reaction to the three seashells in Demolition Man,** I tried each of the buttons. They both just flush the damn thing. So I ask you, what's the point?


On the elevators, specifically:


- Of our six elevators, only two will stop on my floor, only one will go to the floor below me, and only three will go to each of the remaining floors. The same elevators don't go to all those floors, though. I've done the elevator hop 10+ times already today, opting for the stairs almost each of those times after the second elevator wouldn't accept my destination.


- One of our floors lacks elevator call buttons. The ingenious construction workers have a system for this. They simply stand at an elevator's doors and shout the floor's number out. Another worker on another floor will send an elevator up to them. My coworkers and I are less swift; we've been using the stairs.


- We were told before the move that we'd have to use our newfangled key fob thingies*** to get the elevators to go to our specific floors. On my many trips to the various unfinished floors this morning, I dutifully carried my newfangled key fob thingy with me. My colleagues gave me odd looks. The more outspoken pointed at me and laughed. You don't need that, Belle. Why are you carrying it around?!? When I went down for my first smoke break of the afternoon, I was informed that the elevators had been reprogrammed. We now do, in fact, need our newfangled key fob thingies to get to our specific floors. Guess who'd succumbed to peer pressure (and, perhaps, early-onset Alzheimer's) and left her newfangled key fob thingy on her desk?




* The new, PC term for our cubes are "modular units" or some such nonsense. I refuse to participate in the delusion. It's a cube, people.
** Oh, shut up.
*** My company owned the last building we were in, and our staff comprised the majority of people in the office. Security was much less an issue than it is in the new place, which we will (eventually) share with others. I've used access cards and key fobs at other jobs. Many of my coworkers seem befuddled by the additional security measures.

A Wonderful Feeling

Know what made my day today? Going to CL and realizing I hadn't been in so long that I hadn't visited the site once on my (months-old) new laptop.



The only purple-'cause-I-clicked-it link is for apartments. Yeah, that's right, apartments.*

There was a time in the not-so-distant past when I would've gone through withdrawals if I didn't check the personals and whatnot every day or so. But it's been months, and I haven't even looked at the damn thing. Or really thought about it.

Yay me for kicking the CL addiction!

* Roommate and I are tossing around the idea of a move.

Restricted

Get your blog rating at Mingle².

And what earned me the illustrious R rating?

These words:

Dead (x9) Death (x2) Pissed (x 1)

Where's the profanity??? I must be off my game lately.

(Thanks to Arjewtino for the link.)