The Progressive Downfall of Professional Socialization

Or What Happens When Co-workes Go Out For Drinks Armed With A Corporate Card

1st round
Bitch session about how much everyone hates their lazy bosses

2nd round
Gossip about said bosses and how pathetic their lives must be to be so miserable at work

Half way through 2nd round
Gossip about said bosses and how pathetic their sex lives must be to be so miserable at work

3rd round
Gossip about who (non-present co-workers) is sleeping and who has slept with who

4rth round
Revelations about their own sex lives

5th round and beyond
No one really remembers but it was probably about sex

I don't go out for drinks that often so my co-workers seem to love it when I do. The whole being allergic to alcohol amazes them and they love to see me test my limits. Only when after I've had a little and I let them feel my heartbeat do they believe me I think. At least, that's when the 'omg are you ok?' sets in. One of the reasons I don't often go out is because it kind of sucks to watch everyone else get drunk while I only get to have one, immediately followed by a pounding headache and nausea if I don't chase it with two glasses of water.

Another reason, if not obvious already, is the inevitable conversation consumer. Sex, sex, sex. Is that all anyone ever thinks about? Oh right...even I do. I just can't contribute without feeling like a total ass because I totally don't know what I'm talking about. It's weird though, I've come to realize that while my not dishing about my sex life gives me a bit of mystery, the assumptions made are never that I'm a virgin. It's usually that I either just don't like to talk about my straight encounters or I'm a closeted lesbian. Never that I just don't have any experience to talk about, which is a good thing I think. I can only imagine their reactions: first the amazement (once I've convinced them I actually am a virgin) and then the set ups with the perfect guy(s). Or worse, the 'I don't know anyone who you could go out with because everyone I know is a whore'.

I was totally tempted to lie last night, and was preparing myself to spew it if the floor was given to me with the expectation of an answer, but my pauses and subject changes were subtle enough to avoid the spotlight. Plus it will probably keep them guessing should they actually remember it later. I was only up to one and a half by the time they hit five...The more I hang out with them though the more I know they're going to try to 'out' me or at least get me to spill about something sexual.

I told them I 'dated' Dennis though, which may tide them over for a while. Though I'm sure it'll come back to haunt me...again only if they remember I said it. I guess that's the good thing about the involvement of alcohol. What happens in lala land, stays in lala land. So what if it's only because they've lost too many memory brain cells?

What If You Have No History?

Years ago I left home for college with the intention of trying many new things, most of which I would never think of doing while living home. Of course my status as a goody two shoes kind of prevented me from actually following through with them, the exception being the non-law breaking, health-risking ones. Like giving blood.

Being questioned by a nurse wasn't something I expected, as living the life of a sheltered little girl it didn't occur to me to think that people's blood might not be all that healthy to give. I mean, if someone wanted to give blood they must be clean right? It's not like there were drug addicts around trying to earn a cookie by offering their already paltry blood reserve.

Once the questions started though I knew what would be coming. At 17 I didn't think much of my virginal state so I smiled and answered no to every expected question...except one: "Are you pregnant?" I kind of snort laughed and said, "not unless I'm the next Virgin Mary." She didn't crack a smile. I thought it was funny. I've come to discover it's a line used by many of us virgins when we'd like to end the endless sexual history questions with a bit of self-deprecating humor. However it would seem that only the ones saying it actually think it's funny. When did we become the only ones with a sense of humor?

Two years ago I forced myself to finally make an appointment to go to the Gynecologist for the first time. Ever. I blame that irresponsibility on my parents' need to believe I was a good girl and never making me go in my teens. That being the truth aside, I still yell at my mother for it because since I've always been sexually inactive I couldn't scare myself enough into going. She scared me out of sex but not into preventative medicine. No lectures on how I'm putting my health in jeopardy necessary. It's hard enough for me to make an appointment to get my hair cut let alone make one to see the doctor. I hate the phone, I despise making appointments and I loathe having strangers touch me, even if it is in my best interest.
Vaginal Speculum, 1e/2e AD
I chose an older male doctor because I figured he had years of experience and would be desensitized to the sight of a naked woman. I never said I was logical thinker. At any rate, it made me a tad more comfortable. Just a tad. His office was small and lived in, his desk was littered with papers and plastic models of a uterus and drug paraphernalia. I did not tell him it was my first GYN exam ever, but when we got to the sexual history questions I could not lie. When I told him I was not sexually active and had never been, he paused. You may not think that's much, but when you get an OBGYN doctor to pause it's because he's surprised. In that moment I could have sworn his eyebrows raised just slightly. He closed the folder and asked me to tell the nurses up front that they should prepare the white speculum for me.

Now, because I was nervous as hell and not thinking straight, I missed the fact that it was totally inappropriate for him to ask me to do that (as well as the connection between sexual non-history and speculum request). I find it ha-larious in retrospect that I was just dumb enough to do it. And when I did, I wasn't even discreet because I didn't know what the hell the white speculum was. I marched right into the nurses station and said, "the doc said I need the white speculum!" All three of them looked up. I might as well have shouted, "hey girls, prep the virgin prod, this one's gonna be tight!"

Thank God I didn't find out that the white speculum was any different from the regular ones until he was actually examining me and explaining that it was smaller so it wouldn't hurt. I would have been mortified if I hadn't been so nervous. I think the nurse who was in the room with me felt bad because she could tell I was going through this whole, "omg I'm still a virgin and now the whole office knows it" episode. Either that or she was wondering if I was a closeted lesbian.

And so on a completely different note, the upside to this virgin business, as I know my fellow virgins will agree, is that worries about pregnancy, stds and other health risking factors due to sexual activity is not something that plagues us. In fact, sometimes it even saves us time when the doctors are trying to rule out reasons for the illnesses we do get.

Because you know as soon as I start having sex I'm going to be doing online searches for herpes and chlamydia.

Ready Point

Well...it finally happened. After all this time, waiting and wondering when the day would come, torturing myself with alternating thoughts of confidence and doubt...I finally got what I've been waiting for...a promotion!

What...did you think I meant sex? No, I didn't think so. You're too smart for that.

But for once the optomist in me gets to tell the cynic to take a flying leap. It's wonderful. Ok yes I can still complain about the fact that this company/these people has(ve) treated me with disrespect (for 3 out of the 4 years I've been employed by the greedy corporate regime), but the fact of the matter is I still earned this position based on my creative talent and my talent alone. I didn't kiss anyone's ass or constantly bother the higher ups with chatter about how great I am or with small talk for which I have no tolerance. I let my work speak for me and it feels fabulous to finally be recognized.

I know that in itself sounds pompous but I don't care. I'm proud for not giving up on myself as I have been prone to do in the past. And it's just the cherry on top that I overcame actually being held down by a boss. (Granted I use the term 'overcame' loosely as my boss became my ex-boss before I got promoted but whatever. I'm still taking credit. Side note: it's even more delicious because the VP is now aware that I was being held down.) God it's like a bad 80s movie about rising to the top...which is funny because I'm no where near the top. I've reached the place I want to be and for now...I feel a giant sense of relief. My whole life has been about what was next, what I needed to be working toward, who was keeping me from it. After I make the transition I'm actually wondering what I'll have to worry about. It's almost frightening.

My ambition is not great, I have no desire to be president or have people working for me. I just want to do what I do best and maybe get a pat on the back once in a while. This isn't to say I won't be moving on to bigger things eventually, but I've actually reached a career goal and if you couldn't tell I'm just a little awed by it.

As it turns out, the ex-boss has allegedly changed her tune about me as well. While never directly or outwardly negative towards me, her behind the scenes is coming to light. I have no contact with her anymore, but she came back to write up our reviews for the year and according to another co-worker on her level, she wrote me a rave review. My co-worker insisted that my ex-boss has turned a new leaf. I'm not so quick to imagine that's the case, my bruised ambition tends to believe she can't exactly not give me a rave review and come out looking like she doesn't have something against me.

But anyway after I let the news settle in, as well as controlled my urge to tell everyone I've ever met because it's not totally official yet, a thought passed through my mind:

Now I can start looking for a man.

Seriously. I heard it echo through my brain and then I actually laughed out loud. What an absurd thing to think. And yet I thought it. And if I'm actually honest with myself, I'd admit I meant it. Seriously.

So despite my amusement at my own roller coaster of emotions, could it be that maybe I have possibly, actually reached a potential ready point? Finally? Would it be so obvious as all that? Should I take it as a kind of sign that a few weeks ago I even wrote a song about reaching that ready point?

Do I dare dream?

Tatay's Broken Mold

When I was about four years old my mother told me I cried and cried when I found out I couldn't marry my father. Little did either of us know what a foreshadowing it would turn out to be.

I'm sure there are thousands of studies about who people tend to marry and why, but I think it's logical to say that if one grows up in a relatively happy household, they will seek partnership with someone who resembles one or both of their parents in some way. As I'm sure I've blogged (read: whined) before, it's probably obvious that I am looking for many of my father's qualities in a man. The problem with this is I don't think they make them like my father in this country. That is probably the weirdest thing I've ever said but it's true. That's not to say they don't exist, but they are awfully hard to come by. Most American men aren't taught to be sensitive or gentle. We can all accept that generalization as true, no?

But it's more than that. There is an innocence about my father that at 68 he still possesses, and it amazes me. I have yet to meet a man who even comes close to having this vulnerability about them. Of course he has his shortcomings and traditional beliefs that can be narrow minded at times, but we all do. It's what makes us who we are. I do think the human mind is capable of opening up to just about anything, especially the acceptance of our fellow human beings, but only if the burden of self-importance is overcome. For now, everything in moderation, right?

Before your educated yet perverted minds get to it (no doubt there already) I do not suffer an Elektra complex. I respect and love my father, but I don't want my mother dead nor do I actually want my father. Incest isn't really my scene. But I do wonder if in this day and age men like him exist in my generation.

This war has darkened everything. Fear is a major factor in our every day lives, at least that's what the media/war lords want us to accept for ratings/votes, and it doesn't lend a hand in allowing people their innocence. How can you believe the good in other people or in the purity of life when you feel threatened by strangers as well as those who are supposed to be your protectors? Maybe I'm fooling myself in thinking other people feel the same way, but show me a man my age who doesn't hide his fear with machismo and I'll show you our wedding picture.

But I can't really have that little faith. I'm probably just looking in the wrong places. After all, I am in NYC, the self proclaimed capitol of the world, which leads me to my next theory. Maybe I should move abroad for a while (something that has been in the back of my mind since I graduated college) both to experience a different way of life and a different...shall we say, breed? of men. (Not that I have ANY experience, proof or validation to make this gigantic sweeping judgment, I am well aware. But what do you expect from an almost 30 year old virgin with bright eyes and a suitcase of unfounded fears of men/sex/relationships?) Of course, unless I move to an African desert or a jungle in Thailand I fear the working for a living will cage me in the same type of life I live now. Which is not to say is bad, it's just...not different.

And let's not forget the spark, shall we?

Have I mentioned one of the things I have in common with my father, oddly enough, is my occasional naiveté?