On a Monday morning, during my second week at work, a man walked past my desk. A Very Good-Looking Man. I noticed. It took a couple more passes throughout the day before it occurred to me that the Very Good-Looking Man smiled at me whenever we made eye contact. Now, I'm not the kind of girl that is used to this kind of behavior. I have to make a conscious effort to smile at a guy that I think is cute - I tend to assume that they look right through me. Because, to be honest, I find they usually do. Now, don't get me wrong - I know I'm fabulous, and my fabulosity is of a very great depth, but it takes time for people to see it. You definitely have to spend some time with me to love me, and I find that I become more attractive in direct proportion to the amount of time someone has spent getting to know me. So, while I do occasionally get looks from guys on the street, I'm not used to smiles from strangers. Smiles throw me a little off-kilter, especially when coming from what I consider to be a Very Good-Looking Man.
So I decided I'd like to find a way to meet this VGLM, to see if maybe there was a reason for the smile. But when you've just moved to a new city, and just started a new job, you're meeting people left and right and it's hard to find a way to meet someone in a way that's going to lead to real interaction, instead of rapid-fire introductions after which names are promptly forgotten. But lo and behold, it wasn't long before I found a way - it's amazing how many odd little social events crop up around here. (There's a LOT more to do at the U of T than there ever was at Purdue OR UVa for us socially-inept science geek types.) And in a lot of ways, there's nothing more heartbreaking than finding out that the person you've been admiring actually vastly exceeds your expectations. I'm not going to go into great detail about all of the things we have in common, all of the details about him that are truly remarkable, or the genuine knack he has for making you feel like you are the only person in the room. Just suffice it to say that he instantly became one of the biggest crushes I've ever had, and I actually thought I had become crush-proof at this point in my life.
But here's the problem: I have a pretty good guy-dar, and he's just not that into me. He is incredibly nice, and friendly, and DAMN he has a way of smiling at me that just melts me, but I'm hardly the first person to notice these traits in him and I'm sure I won't be the last. I can feel the energy shift that happens when there's another girl around who is younger, prettier, thinner, etc. than I am. I'm just not the sort of person he's drawn to. And I'm too old to try to force that shit. So he can go right on looking through me. And I'll go right on being a sucker for that smile. And that's fine.
But seriously...VGLM...call me.
Friday, October 27, 2006
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
5 o'clock pick-me-up
You know what's insane? How I can be completely tired, bored, literally falling asleep at my desk, ready to go home on a drizzly, cold, gloomy Tuesday evening. Until that one particular person walks past my desk. The sudden rush of happy reminds me that, at heart, I am still approximately twelve, and desperately hoping to be noticed. Yet somehow, it's enough for me to just notice him.
Sunday, October 22, 2006
La Vie Boheme
The need to express...to communicate...to going against the grain...going insane...going mad.
I've found I can be a lot to handle. This is probably why I don't have a boyfriend. Well, that and the fact that I just moved to Canada and still don't quite speak the language. Every once in a while, I find myself in one of these self-indulgent, nobody-gets-me kind of moods. These moods are what make me do stupid things. Like obsessing over that cute guy to an uncalled-for level, or becoming wildly jealous that someone I hardly know and have no vested interest in is dating someone else. These are stupid things to do. I know this.
But when it comes down to it, these thing happen merely because I'm a passionate person. When I love something, I do it passionately - whether that something is food, wine, or music... a hobby or a human being... friend, family, or significant other. The flipside of that is that when things are slow in life (which they often are), I have to vent the passion that would normally be directed towards a project or relationship. So it gets redirected. Take tonight - the redirection du jour meant channeling my creative energies into cooking a good dinner with good wine to match. Now, this would be fine - fabulous, in fact - were it enough. But for some reason I have to take it one step further so that I eventually find myself serenading my landlord's dogs. You may laugh, but they make for a very attentive audience. Or at least they do until they start humping each other. Apparently, in the canine world, I am Barry White... kind of like how Jerry Lewis is a comic genius in France, or how Kevin Federline is a worthwhile human being in the twisted mind of Britney Spears.
Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes - feeling a need to be expressive. Funny how that need always seems to make me incoherent as hell. This....this is how I know I'm ready to find Something to Do With Myself. Or at the very least, to put on some music to sing and dance along with while I fantasize about my Real Life. You know what I mean - most of us wander around aimlessly through life waiting for it to begin. Every time I make a big change in my life, I feel like it's imminent...but so far, it hasn't happened yet. Oh, well - I'm ready whenever you are.
Any minute now, my ship is coming in
I'll keep checking the horizon
I'll stand on the bow, feel the waves come crashing
Come crashing down down down, on me
And you say, be still my love
Open up your heart
Let the light shine in
But don't you understand
I already have a plan
I'm waiting for my real life to begin
-Colin Hay
I've found I can be a lot to handle. This is probably why I don't have a boyfriend. Well, that and the fact that I just moved to Canada and still don't quite speak the language. Every once in a while, I find myself in one of these self-indulgent, nobody-gets-me kind of moods. These moods are what make me do stupid things. Like obsessing over that cute guy to an uncalled-for level, or becoming wildly jealous that someone I hardly know and have no vested interest in is dating someone else. These are stupid things to do. I know this.
But when it comes down to it, these thing happen merely because I'm a passionate person. When I love something, I do it passionately - whether that something is food, wine, or music... a hobby or a human being... friend, family, or significant other. The flipside of that is that when things are slow in life (which they often are), I have to vent the passion that would normally be directed towards a project or relationship. So it gets redirected. Take tonight - the redirection du jour meant channeling my creative energies into cooking a good dinner with good wine to match. Now, this would be fine - fabulous, in fact - were it enough. But for some reason I have to take it one step further so that I eventually find myself serenading my landlord's dogs. You may laugh, but they make for a very attentive audience. Or at least they do until they start humping each other. Apparently, in the canine world, I am Barry White... kind of like how Jerry Lewis is a comic genius in France, or how Kevin Federline is a worthwhile human being in the twisted mind of Britney Spears.
Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes - feeling a need to be expressive. Funny how that need always seems to make me incoherent as hell. This....this is how I know I'm ready to find Something to Do With Myself. Or at the very least, to put on some music to sing and dance along with while I fantasize about my Real Life. You know what I mean - most of us wander around aimlessly through life waiting for it to begin. Every time I make a big change in my life, I feel like it's imminent...but so far, it hasn't happened yet. Oh, well - I'm ready whenever you are.
Any minute now, my ship is coming in
I'll keep checking the horizon
I'll stand on the bow, feel the waves come crashing
Come crashing down down down, on me
And you say, be still my love
Open up your heart
Let the light shine in
But don't you understand
I already have a plan
I'm waiting for my real life to begin
-Colin Hay
Friday, October 13, 2006
Paintball and Public Art
So there were a number of reasons that I was REALLY excited to move to Toronto...FINALLY finishing my Ph.D. and getting to leave Indiana behind was only part of it. Everyone I've ever mentioned coming here to has reacted with something along the lines of, "oh, I hear/know/may have read once in a bathroom stall that Toronto is WAY fun... you're going to love it there... you're not going to want to come back... wow, that's really far north and people talk funny - do they really say "eh?" a lot????" and so on. And I learned during my brief interview trip in July that yes, there really are many things to love about this city, an infinite number of possibilities to explore, and, perhaps most importantly, they really do say "eh" almost exactly as much as Americans do when they're making fun of them. But of course, when you move to a new city, and you really don't know anyone, that tends to limit the possibilities a wee bit. I mean, don't get me wrong - I am all about just packing a lunch in my backpack and wandering around a new city to explore...in fact, it's my idea of a perfect vacation. However, there are a number of things that you simply have to have friends to properly experience - a great meal or a glass of wine is ALWAYS better when you have someone to share it with, comedy is funnier when you're laughing with someone else, and table tennis is, well, damn near impossible. Which is why, when the French guy who works in one of the other research groups that shares the lab space I'm in (let's just call him Pepe Le Pew) came around one day a couple of weeks after I got here talking about organizing an outing to get people from the 4th floor together so we could get to know each other better, I immediately volunteered myself to represent my group. Now, in the interest of full disclosure, I will admit that when he first started talking about it, I missed the beginning of the conversation, so I had no idea if I was volunteering for a picnic or the Israeli army, but whatever it was, I was going to meet people, dammit! And, well, I may have had an ulterior motive, but we'll talk more about that later. Maybe. Haven't decided if I'm going to discuss that on here yet - right now, since I only have one actual reader (HI, EM!!!), it seems pretty harmless to talk about people, but you never know who might be reading this someday...
Anyway, so it turned out I had volunteered for paintball. The original idea was for it to be a death match between teams from the four groups that share the 4th floor, but it basically turned out to be PLP's group vs. me and one guy from one other group. Now, I don't know about you, but I don't seem to remember ever hearing about a Great War between Germany... and Lichtenstein. So by the time the fateful day came, it had been decided that we'd just divide up into two teams when we got there. We had been hoping we'd have at least 15 people total, because they told us if we had that many, we could have a field to ourselves, but if not, we'd have to mingle with other groups. So Saturday rolls around, and we have about 12-13 people. Well, shit - of those dozen or so people, we have approximately two that have ever played before. We are about to get massacred by strangers - always a good time in my book. We get out to the paintball place and...double shit. EVERYONE is decked out in camouflage, toting their own equipment - guns, paint HANDGRENADES, night-vision goggles (okay, maybe not, but I wouldn't put it past some of these people) - and here we tumble out of our rented minivan, half of us girls, some of whom are wearing - and I am not making this up - MASCARA. These people think they're in an ACTUAL WAR and we are LICHTENSTEIN. But, plucky nerds that we are, we march into the Big Barn of Scary, where they provide us with handy waivers that basically say that, should we be maimed, disabled, blinded, killed, or pushed down the hill by a peri-menopausal Nazi, we're on our own. Great. But then, they start giving us equipment. Now WE are dressed in camouflage...WE have big guns full of deceptively harmless-looking balls of paint...WE have Darth Vader masks to perch menacingly atop our noggins too!!! Okay, so we're still scared pantsless, but at least now we look the part. Once we're properly attired, and the pre-mortem group picture is taken, Referee Guy comes out to explain the rules. Someone bravely asks who we'll be playing with, and RG says the most beautiful words I've ever heard, "Oh, you'll just be playing against each other." (Cue Hallelujah Chorus)
So, from this point on, there's not really a whole lot more to report about paintball. Basically, we spent the next few hours chasing each other around and having an awful lot of fun. We even had our very own UN Observer! And I learned that I would SUCK in an actual war, but come on, didn't we all pretty much know that already??? I think my primary problem is just that I get really bored with the "hiding behind things" and the "trying not to get shot" - after a couple of minutes of that I just want to storm the castle, ya know? So after three hours of light rain, several bags of ammunition, and about 4 significant bruises (not bad, eh?), we called it a day and drove back to town, muddy and tired, but our bloodlust temporarily sated. Now, on a normal day, in a normal place, one might think this is where the story ends. But one would be wrong...
See, I had heard about something called Nuit Blanche here and there, but I wasn't sure what it was. So when we got started in the morning, I asked some people exactly what the deal was, and they confirmed that it was pretty much what it sounded like: from 7pm to 7am, there would be performances, galleries, and public art installations all over downtown. Sounds like fun, eh? But this is exactly the sort of thing to which I alluded earlier: wandering around downtown all night by yourself is not fun. Wandering around WITH people, talking about what you're looking at, and stopping for the occasional drink is FUN. So when we got back from paintball, half of the minivan scattered to do God knows what. That left four of us - two of whom had tentative plans to go to Nuit Blanche with other friends, and two of whom were interested in tagging along. So we got dinner - because that's what people who enjoy culture do. We had an AMAZING dinner at an Ethiopian restaurant...I had never had Ethiopian food, but now I know that it's damn good stuff. Then we started wandering. And from here on, the evening sort of defies description. I can't possibly convey the sensory experience of it all, but it was just incredibly fun and stimulating. Now, part of that was the company - by the end, there were five of us, and among the group we had 3 violinists, one person who has sung opera, two who have danced ballet, and...one who is French - meh, it'll do. The streets were just swarming with people, pouring in and out of art galleries, rec centers, public baths - everything from live music to bizarre films to balloon penguins floating on frisbees in a swimming pool. The whole thing was so surreal, especially considering we had begun the day chasing each other around with guns, only to end it by listening to a jazz combo while we talked to an artist about his work. So eventually we headed back to PLP's house, ostensibly to have a couple of drinks and recharge, but the change of pace served to put the final nail in the sleepy coffin for half of our little group, so at about 4:30 I hopped on the night bus to slowly make my way home. At which time I met Zanta. Now, Zanta also sort of defies description. I'll let him speak for himself. Suffice it to say, it was a perfectly bizarre ending to a fairly random day. But considering the last all-nighter I pulled was spent doing labwork, I'll take this any day. :)
So that was my first big day/night out in Toronto. I think the bar's been set pretty high...I'm looking forward to seeing where the city takes me next.
Anyway, so it turned out I had volunteered for paintball. The original idea was for it to be a death match between teams from the four groups that share the 4th floor, but it basically turned out to be PLP's group vs. me and one guy from one other group. Now, I don't know about you, but I don't seem to remember ever hearing about a Great War between Germany... and Lichtenstein. So by the time the fateful day came, it had been decided that we'd just divide up into two teams when we got there. We had been hoping we'd have at least 15 people total, because they told us if we had that many, we could have a field to ourselves, but if not, we'd have to mingle with other groups. So Saturday rolls around, and we have about 12-13 people. Well, shit - of those dozen or so people, we have approximately two that have ever played before. We are about to get massacred by strangers - always a good time in my book. We get out to the paintball place and...double shit. EVERYONE is decked out in camouflage, toting their own equipment - guns, paint HANDGRENADES, night-vision goggles (okay, maybe not, but I wouldn't put it past some of these people) - and here we tumble out of our rented minivan, half of us girls, some of whom are wearing - and I am not making this up - MASCARA. These people think they're in an ACTUAL WAR and we are LICHTENSTEIN. But, plucky nerds that we are, we march into the Big Barn of Scary, where they provide us with handy waivers that basically say that, should we be maimed, disabled, blinded, killed, or pushed down the hill by a peri-menopausal Nazi, we're on our own. Great. But then, they start giving us equipment. Now WE are dressed in camouflage...WE have big guns full of deceptively harmless-looking balls of paint...WE have Darth Vader masks to perch menacingly atop our noggins too!!! Okay, so we're still scared pantsless, but at least now we look the part. Once we're properly attired, and the pre-mortem group picture is taken, Referee Guy comes out to explain the rules. Someone bravely asks who we'll be playing with, and RG says the most beautiful words I've ever heard, "Oh, you'll just be playing against each other." (Cue Hallelujah Chorus)
So, from this point on, there's not really a whole lot more to report about paintball. Basically, we spent the next few hours chasing each other around and having an awful lot of fun. We even had our very own UN Observer! And I learned that I would SUCK in an actual war, but come on, didn't we all pretty much know that already??? I think my primary problem is just that I get really bored with the "hiding behind things" and the "trying not to get shot" - after a couple of minutes of that I just want to storm the castle, ya know? So after three hours of light rain, several bags of ammunition, and about 4 significant bruises (not bad, eh?), we called it a day and drove back to town, muddy and tired, but our bloodlust temporarily sated. Now, on a normal day, in a normal place, one might think this is where the story ends. But one would be wrong...
See, I had heard about something called Nuit Blanche here and there, but I wasn't sure what it was. So when we got started in the morning, I asked some people exactly what the deal was, and they confirmed that it was pretty much what it sounded like: from 7pm to 7am, there would be performances, galleries, and public art installations all over downtown. Sounds like fun, eh? But this is exactly the sort of thing to which I alluded earlier: wandering around downtown all night by yourself is not fun. Wandering around WITH people, talking about what you're looking at, and stopping for the occasional drink is FUN. So when we got back from paintball, half of the minivan scattered to do God knows what. That left four of us - two of whom had tentative plans to go to Nuit Blanche with other friends, and two of whom were interested in tagging along. So we got dinner - because that's what people who enjoy culture do. We had an AMAZING dinner at an Ethiopian restaurant...I had never had Ethiopian food, but now I know that it's damn good stuff. Then we started wandering. And from here on, the evening sort of defies description. I can't possibly convey the sensory experience of it all, but it was just incredibly fun and stimulating. Now, part of that was the company - by the end, there were five of us, and among the group we had 3 violinists, one person who has sung opera, two who have danced ballet, and...one who is French - meh, it'll do. The streets were just swarming with people, pouring in and out of art galleries, rec centers, public baths - everything from live music to bizarre films to balloon penguins floating on frisbees in a swimming pool. The whole thing was so surreal, especially considering we had begun the day chasing each other around with guns, only to end it by listening to a jazz combo while we talked to an artist about his work. So eventually we headed back to PLP's house, ostensibly to have a couple of drinks and recharge, but the change of pace served to put the final nail in the sleepy coffin for half of our little group, so at about 4:30 I hopped on the night bus to slowly make my way home. At which time I met Zanta. Now, Zanta also sort of defies description. I'll let him speak for himself. Suffice it to say, it was a perfectly bizarre ending to a fairly random day. But considering the last all-nighter I pulled was spent doing labwork, I'll take this any day. :)
So that was my first big day/night out in Toronto. I think the bar's been set pretty high...I'm looking forward to seeing where the city takes me next.
Sunday, October 08, 2006
My bed is a fortress....
A fortress of SEXY, that is.
Okay, so I'm new to the blogging game, but frankly, typing is a heckuva lot faster than writing longhand, and sometimes I think faster than I can write, so here I am, writing the newer, sleeker, more modern equivalent of the lame-ass website I had in college. I just moved to Toronto from the States, so I will be taking many cheap shots at Canadians, Americans, and, well, anyone that should happen to piss me off. There will be smartass comments of the sort that can only be crafted by those who have spent WAY too long in grad school, yet finally, somehow, broken free. There will be poorly-veiled attempts to discuss my failed relationships, and even more poorly-veiled attempts at discussing my future ones. But most of all, there will be the Sexy. Okay, who am I kidding... there will be the Cute. It's the best that I can do, but should I ever fail, feel free to call me Sexy...
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