Thursday, September 13, 2012

Paired up

I'm the only single person at my workplace.  The partners are as interesting and varied as the people I work with: one is smart and friendly, one is super athletic, one is a librarian, one is flaky, one will bake cookies for the office, one couldn't take three weeks of retirement, so he started working again, and so on. 

I'm jealous.  Not of anyone in particular, but they have found that one person they want to annoy for the rest of their lives.

At social functions (ie, Christmas party or "fun day," which I was able to dodge), I stand with my wine or pop and look awkward while everyone else has an elaborate plan of escape that involves the partner having a meeting in the morning.  What else is a partner for, but to give the impression of a conspiracy.  Even when it's the two of you left alone for a few moments together at the party, and you're not talking (after all, you already know each others' stories), a well placed hand on the small of your back or sideways glance can be quite comforting.  Even when the glance says "next week is my office party and you owe me."

On Monday mornings, I ask my work friends what they did on the weekend, and their answers often start with "we went..." or "we did..."  My answers are usually a variation of "I went and visited friends and family who have also found their counterparts.  I did this by myself."

It sounds like complaining, and it is really*.  However, with the way I've been lately, I really don't have the energy or self-esteem to really look for a partner.  In actuality, I don't even know what's on my shopping list at the moment.  There's a small list of things I don't want (please, don't be an asshole, don't be controlling, and don't take up the bathroom for 1.5 hours in the morning), and a small list of things I do want (please know how to read, please have ears and a nose), but they all seem like obvious ones.   When I think about my past, my most recent favourite man was an engineer, so I think I'd like someone around that education level.  But I also like to think that if I meet a garbageman who's a brilliant painter, I'd be open to that, too.

I'm getting off topic.  Most recently, I've flirted with my potential landlord, who turned out to be 51.  That was disappointing.  When I got home from that little discovery, I checked my email and had received a plenty of fish message from a 20 year old.

Really, universe?  What the fuck?  Is this your hilarious way of saying "not yet" or should I even stop talking to you as a thing that exists?  Twat.

I should write more.  Actual writing, not complaining.  

*This entire blog is kind of a venting point, so I should stop feeling bad about complaining.  I just hope I've made it interesting enough for people to want to read it.

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