Bashful at the "Bash"

Well, once again I’ve made it through my three day work week and am enjoying my weekend, or doing whatever it is that I do with it that’s not really all that much like “enjoying” at all...
The actual weekend, i.e. when I was working, was relatively uneventful. The days passed as they normally pass.
Which is to say, very, very slowly.
On Friday the company had one of its “Beer Bashes,” which is when they have a party for employees on the front lawn with music, beer, and various snacks.
There’s a sort of running joke amongst those of us who work 24x7 shifts that we use in reference to the majority of employees who work more traditional hours. Basically, if we see any other employees in the hallway after 4 pm, we conclude that “There must be a Beer Bash today,” as typically the place clears out by around 3:30 on Fridays, except when there’s a Beer Bash, which usually begins at 4.
In any case, despite the rather lackluster array of snacks available, it is very cool that the company has events like that, and I imagine that, for those people who are free to enjoy them, they are quite a boost to morale.
For those of us stuck working while they’re going on, though, they don’t mean that much.
In particular for me, they only serve to remind me just how much I really miss beer.
The latest “Bash” did this especially, since they actually didn’t go cheap, and I noted that there was a dark beer (Sam Adams Oktoberfest), which, while not exactly phenomenal, would be something that I’d definitely enjoy.
Still, even if I did still drink, enjoying a Beer Bash wouldn’t really be a possibility. Sure, company policy would allow me to have one beer during working hours, and they tend to continue for a little while after my shift ends, but given that I have to be back to work within 12 hours (11 and a half, to be precise) of getting off work, it’s unlikely that I’d really be able to hang around have too much fun.
And since it’s not really physically possible for me to drink only one beer, I wouldn’t be able to enjoy it during working hours. Two always seemed to be the absolute minimum for me. It wasn’t that I never had the will power to stop at just one, it was just that if I did, my body usually rebelled. Drinking just one would give me a headache. It was as if my body would say, “Come on, where’s the rest?”
But even one (or two) isn’t really a possibility for me, so Beer Bashes just tend to serve as an unhappy reminder more than anything else.
Today has been relatively unexciting, though more productive than most Mondays have been of late.
I had a lot of odd dreams in the night, but I don’t really remember them and I’ve never had any luck with trying to keep a “Dream Journal,” so I’ve given up trying.
In any case, the dreams were obviously disturbing, as I kept waking from them periodically throughout the night. I was, of course, awake when the garbage truck arrived this morning, but I managed to doze back off and slept in until 9.
However, I did force myself to go for a walk upon getting up.
After walking and talking to my mother, I showered and headed over to Wal Mart to pick up a few things. While I was there I found something I’ve been trying to find for quite some time: a food processor that has an attachment for slicing and grating. As a bonus, it was only $10, so I bought it.
I went through the self-checkout, which I usually don’t bother with, since typically the lines for them are longer than they are for the regular lanes.
That wasn’t the case this time, though, so I whizzed on through, and headed out to my car.
When I got there I realized that I was short one bag. In fact, it was even the bag I had put the receipt in.
I went back in for it, but it wasn’t there. Fortunately a cashier had grabbed it and brought it over to his register.
Then I stopped for a few groceries. I spent damn near $50, and most of what I bought is going to be used as the ingredients for ONE MEAL.
It’s this recipe I found online for some sort of “everything but the kitchen sink” dinner that involves all sorts of different kinds of meats and other ingredients and many, many hours in a slow cooker. I can’t even start on it until tomorrow, as some of the ingredients have to soak overnight. It’s going to have a pretty big yield, though, so I should have a freezer full of lunches for a long time, so it’s not really just one meal, even though it is one dish.
After my shopping I went to the rental office to renew my lease for a year, but, after waiting for the girl working there to get off the phone with Verizon to clarify just why she can’t get DSL (she’s too far from the Central Office), she revealed that they’re completely out of paper, and so she wouldn’t be able to print up a lease for me to sign.
So I came back home and got to work on making two loaves of banana bread.
And that brings us up to date on today.
Last night was a good night for TV. Law & Order: Criminal Intent was good. Dead Like Me was very good, and had a scene that was like a blow to the chest (but in a good way). Aqua Teen Hunger Force was hilarious, and so was The Venture Bros.
Over the weekend Brian and Kathleen reported to me that “We’ve found the girl for you.”
She is, apparently, hot, young (24), miraculously single, and has just, or is about to (it differed depending on who told it), completed her PhD.
Sounds great, right?
The problem lies in the fact that she lives in Pittsburgh.
(I should mention that, for personal reasons that are not mine to get into, Brian and Kathleen have been making periodic trips to Pittsburgh on their days off, where they interact with this girl.)
Now, while I may, at times, be incredibly, desperately lonely, I don’t think my desperation is at such a level that I would move to another state just on the off-chance that I might hit it off with some woman living there.
So, from my perspective, this hot, young, single PhD candidate might as well not even exist, and ultimately I’d be better off not even knowing that she does.
Besides, as soon as the words hot, single, and 24 were mentioned, one of my co-workers, Chris, was swooping in like a circling vulture.
Now it’s entirely possible that HE might consider making the trip to Pittsburgh (though I really don’t think so), so my opportunity is lost anyway, even if I were to lose my mind and just rush out there.
Why is it lost? Do I think that Chris is that much more appealing than I am?
Well, probably, but whether or not he is, or if I even THINK that he is, is irrelevant, as my response to competition, when it comes to women, is to forfeit right at the start.
The main reason is that I’ve found that competition for the affections of a woman invariably gets really ugly really fast. I prefer to just forego it, as it’s just not worth the bother.
So if Chris wants to wend his way towards the City of Brotherly Love, more power to him.
I just want to stress, though, how silly I think the whole thing is anyway. Hearing about attractive women who live four hours away doesn’t do me any good whatsoever.
On the other hand, attractive women who are considerably closer do me just about as much good as the ones who are far away, which segues nicely into my next section…
Currently there is a woman I find incredibly attractive who is very nearby, and yet might as well be living in Pittsburgh. Or Zaire, for that matter.
When I lived in Minnesota, my friends and I had a habit of giving nicknames to women we saw when we didn’t know their names. We did this for our own convenience, so that, when relating tales to each other, we could avoid having to explain who we were talking about.
Usually the nicknames were based on some specific quality the woman in question possessed. Thus were born names such as “Tall Chick,” who was tall, and “Ass Chick,” who had a nice ass, and even, based on the vanity license plate on her car, “GWAR Chick.”
(If you don’t know who GWAR is, I’d recommend Googling them. They’re entertaining. Kind of.)
In any case, while I do know the name of the current object of my attention, for the purposes of the blog I will refer to her, following the Minnesota tradition, as “Flame Chick.”
Why “Flame Chick,” you ask? Well, when I see her, she typically wears a jacket that has flames embroidered on the sleeves, and I just noticed on Friday that the flame motif is mirrored on her tennis shoes.
Flame Chick, or “FC”, first came to my attention well over a year ago. The area I work in is wide open, but houses several different departments, and she works for one of those other departments.
It used to be that our schedules intersected on Sundays, but then she was moved to a different facility for a long time. Recently she has returned to where I work, and our schedules now intersect on Fridays.
While I think that she’s absolutely gorgeous, I can see how other people might not see her as being anything beyond merely “attractive.” I know one of my coworkers doesn’t think she’s attractive at all.
The thing is, she’s not really conventionally pretty. The term I’ve come up with to describe her is “solid craftsmanship.” She’s just so well put together. Everything about her just fits so seamlessly together, and she’s just so…streamlined.
I hate to objectify her (any more than I already have by calling her “Flame Chick,” at least), but if she were something manufactured, she might not be a flashy showroom piece, but she would show signs of having been very carefully constructed.
I’m not explaining this at all well, and it comes off as incredibly bizarre and insulting, but suffice to say I dig her. A lot.
Anyway, now that FC is back, I find that a good portion of my Friday is spent engaging in this pattern of behavior:

Look at FC, then sigh and look away, then look at FC, then sigh and look away, then look at FC…

And so forth.
Even in the “open” workspace with no walls or cubicles, there is a considerable amount of space that divides us, and we work at different desks, and since there’s really no “official” reason for us to communicate with each other, in order for me to open the lines of communication, I would have to just get up, walk over, and start talking to her.
Why don’t I do that, you ask? Well, with the way the our workspace is set up, if I were to just walk over to her and start talking to her as if we were in a singles bar and not a work environment, essentially I would be surrounded on all sides by an audience (composed entirely of bored people just waiting for something interesting to happen), and the acoustics are such that no matter how quietly I spoke everyone in the farthest corners of the place would be able, if they were listening, which they would be, to hear pretty much every word I said.
Never mind how embarrassing this would be for me, I’m sure it would also be rather mortifying for her.
Besides, I wasn’t any good at picking up chicks in bars when I was actually in a bar, so I doubt that such an approach would work under these circumstances.
The only other option is to try to catch her when she’s alone, perhaps in the break room, and try some bit of idle chitchat to initiate a conversation.
(In best imitation of Butt-Head: “So…I see you eat food. I eat food, too.”)
So far such an opportunity hasn’t presented itself, though.
The closest I came to having an opportunity to approach her was when she was outside for the Beer Bash, but that was less than ideal, as it would have involved blowing off the people I was talking to, forcing my way through the crowd, and crashing in on the conversation she was having with other people.
It would have gone something like this:

Scott, Brian, et. al: Blah blah blah blah-
Me: Yeah, that's interesting. Shut up, okay? (Pushing my way through a crowd of tipsy nerds and company VIPs). Excuse me, coming through, pardon me, get the fuck out of the way. What? No, I'm not trying to "start something," you drunk nerd. Just kiss my ass, okay Frodo?
FC: So then I said-
Me: (Forcing my way in between her and the person she was talking to.). Hey.
FC: Can I help you?
Me: Yeah, I think you're hot. Wanna go out?
FC: EXCUSE me?
Me: Why? You fart?
FC: What? No, I-
Me: So like, what do you say? I mean, I saw you out here, so I figured I should come over and say hey. Everyone says I gotta be bold. Chicks dig that confidence shit. So I’m here, you’re here, let’s get it on, right?
FC: Do I even know you?
Me: You do now. I'm Jon. Am I making a good impression? I bet I am, 'cause I TOTALLY seized the day, and I bet that makes you hot.
FC: Come again?
Me: Oh yeah, baby, and again and again. I guarantee!
FC: (Either throws her drink in my face and walks away, or just walks away)
Me: So I guess a blow job behind one of the blade racks is out of the question?

Okay, so maybe my dialogue wouldn't have been quite so boorish, but considering that I would be a "gatecrasher," and that doing so would be just as out of character as me talking to someone like that, I might as well go full-on obnoxious.
It'd probably be even worse if I tried casually insinuating myself into the conversation:

(After fighting my way through the crowd and trying to look nonchalant as I push and kick people out of my way, I sidle up to her)
Person talking: ...and I said rectum? Damn near killed 'em!
(Laughter)
Me: Ha ha ha ha ha ha...*sigh* yeah, that's a good one. (To FC) So, how's it going? Can I get you another drink?
FC: What? No, I have more than half left.
Me: Oh. Well, can I get you some popcorn or-
FC: Who ARE you?
Me: Oh, I'm Jon, and I-
FC: Look, Don, was it? I'm talking to my friends here, so if you don't mind..?
Me: Oh, well I just thought that maybe you and I could-
FC: Well, we can't. Now fuck off, okay? Thanks Don.

I mean, everyone has had the experience of having the weirdo who comes over and tries to insinuate himself into a conversation, and it never ends well. It usually creates an awkward silence, followed by the weirdo either getting the hint, having to be told off, or the dissolution of the group.
I have actually spoken to FC once, long ago. It didn’t last long, but she did use the word “missive,” which impressed me and started me on the path of being interested in her. Previously, I had been steadfastly avoiding becoming interested in her because I knew that it would never lead to anything worthwhile.
Whenever possible I try to avoid becoming interested in a woman.
So really, beyond the fact that she’s well put together (and, based on the way she dresses, seems to be fairly low-maintenance), I don’t know much about her. Given where she works and what her job is, I can conclude that she’s reasonably intelligent (as is also indicated by her use of the word “missive”), and that she’s probably at least somewhat of a geek.
But beyond that I don’t even know if she’s single.
In point of fact, I doubt that she is. Despite the fact that other people might not think she’s conventionally pretty, the fact remains that our work environment is filled to overflowing with guys. It’s raining men where I work, and I’m sure there are plenty of guys who have regular interaction with her who find her attractive, assuming she didn’t come into the job already hooked up.
Besides, the hot girl in Pittsburgh notwithstanding, experience has taught me that there are no attractive single women in the world.
So yeah, even bothering to think about Flame Chick is a total waste of time, so I really need to stop it.
Not that it really matters if I don’t. It’s not like I’m going to stalk her or anything. I hardly ever do that anymore.
Just kidding; I gave up stalking completely.
Still kidding, I’ve never stalked anyone.
At worst I’ll just continue to look at her, sigh, look away, look at her, sigh, look away, etc.
Odds are that she’ll never even notice, since for one thing, she has an annoying habit of not noticing that I exist, and for another, she’s in between me and a big screen that’s displaying CNN, so if worse comes to worse I can always play it off as though I’m watching the news.
Anyway, that’s it for this sad and pathetic chapter of my life. I may write some more later, as there were some “Sin City” related things I wanted to talk about.
But this particular entry has gone on more than long enough.