How My Job Might Ruin My Dating Life

When I moved to the south from Oregon, I expected that things would be different. There were some things I hoped would be different. Like the way people dress up for weddings. Also sweet tea and pimiento cheese being readily available.

Mostly I hoped for the men to be different. I'm going to generalize and say that men in the Pacific NW (and probably the entire west coast) are very self-involved. They're more concerned with their image and care far more about themselves to spend a modicum of effort on the women around them. The loves of their lives are inanimate - mountain bikes, snowboards, and craft beer. There is very little room left over for women or for doing things that women like. Such as being taken to dinner. Or even being paid a small compliment.

So yes, things are different in the south and I feel particularly so at my present job. I'm in a room with at least a dozen men and only two other women. A lot of the time I'm the only woman. And they treat me like one. They tell dirty jokes but then they apologize (because they don't know me very well). If I voice that I would like something, say an extra monitor on my desk, it's on my desk and hooked up before I finish my sentence. When I got my new docking station, three of them swarmed over to help me set it up. Nobody says anything when I take the last cookie.

The other men in the building are just as accommodating. They go out of their way to hold doors open, hold the elevator, let me off the elevator or through the door first. The guys I think who are too busy to really pay attention to me remember the single conversation we had and refer to the thing I told them. Guys I don't even know notice when I get my hair cut and compliment me. Even the security guys, who I think have the most boring job in the building, cheer me up on cloudy days.

I went to Pittsburgh for training three months after I started here. I mistakenly asked someone at the help desk if he had a power cord I could borrow for the week and he started at me blankly and then told me to go downstairs and find one. What?? You mean you're not going to stop what you're doing and clamber to get one for me???

Do you see the problem? I now can't date a guy who doesn't treat me at least as well as my co-workers. At my age, I've already learned to have higher standards. I am further being spoiled and (mis)led to believe I am some sort of actual lady.

Thus, my wish list has changed a bit. Future boyfriends must use ma'am on occasion. But only in a cute, charming way, not like in an I'm-an-old-lady way. They must open doors and let me through first. They must give up their seat and not just to me, but to pregnant women and the elderly, even when I'm not present. They must anticipate my needs and provide them before I've finished my sentence. As in, "I'd like some hot chocolate right about..... Oh, thank you!" They should probably assume I know nothing about electronics and insist on assembling things. Even if I can figure it out, I don't want to.

And they should always, always give me the last cookie.

First Week First Impressions

I have now been in Nashville for a week and finished my first week of work. It still feels temporary and I have only just been reunited with my bed and my shoes today but it sinks in a little bit more every day.

So, what is Nashville like? Here are my first impressions:

1. It's very green. So green. And hilly. And all of the hills are covered with trees. So many trees.
2. The houses all have storm doors. So weird and I don't know why. Not screens, just glass storm doors.
3. If something is two miles away, it will take 10 minutes to get there. If it's 5.6 miles away and on the freeway at rush hour, you don't go there.
4. I love fireflies as much now as I did when I was a kid.
5. The humidity is bearable unless you're moving boxes and furniture into the house. Then the movers drip sweat on your boxes and floor.
6. Driving 80 mph on the freeway is fun.
7. People talk about going to church a lot. Like everyone. And the churches are huge. Also, Koreans are Baptists.
8. Neighbors are actually neighborly.
9. Every parking lot is Costco-sized, but there are gorgeous hidden neighborhoods that feel miles from town even though they're a minute from Target.
10. They have different bugs here. And different spiders.
11. For a place called Music City, there aren't many good radio stations. At all.
12. People open doors but drive like shit. Unless they are old and expect you to hold a door open for them and then don't say thank you.
13. It's not all southern accents here. And it's really weird to hear an Asian girl with a thick drawl.
14. Not all sweet tea is created equal. (Equally?)
15. There is a Gus's fried chicken that I must go to. I wonder if Gus worked there before he got blown up.

Okay, on to week two and unpacking all of my shit. That there is no room for. Fml.

The Taste of Memory

I don't remember what it was, but a year or so ago D smelled something and remarked that it smelled like her childhood. Which is funny because she's still in her childhood. And also I couldn't think of anything that particular smell could be evoking.

Today I had a Jolly Rancher watermelon-flavored candy. It wasn't quite as strong as a scent would be, but it did take me back to my childhood. Which I am far from and I have the gray hair to prove it.

Anyway, it got me thinking about what flavor my childhood would be. There are a lot that I remember and I'll list them for you. (An excuse to make a list!!) Notice this will not be given in any order of favorites, i.e. I despise liver.

1. Abba Zabba. Aside from Jolly Ranchers, these were my favorite candy. My friend Jenny and I would freeze them before eating them. I lost a tooth in one once at the beach.

2. Liver. My daughter has never had this forced down her throat. I have neither eaten it nor made it as an adult.

3. Canned spinach. Mom, really? I don't think D even knows that this exists. Stringy grossness at its slimiest best.

4. Tacos. I asked for them every birthday.

5. Spaghetti. My sister asked for it on her birthdays. My mom made it out of the paper packet.

6. Oily meat. We experimented with a fondue pot for a while. I have vastly improved on the method.

7. Cheerios. My grandma made sure she had some every time that I visited. Until I was 21.

8. Chicken and dumplings. Family recipe.

9. Caramel cream pecan pie. We had this at Thanksgiving instead of pumpkin.

10. Lima beans. Another thing D has never been force-fed.

11. Fried catfish. Freshly caught by my grandpa.

12. Fish sticks. I was never a gay fish.

13. In-N-out cheeseburgers. The single defining meal of my California life.

14. TV dinners. My father, as a single man, was only capable of fortifying me in this inhumane manner.

15. Hot chocolate with vanilla ice cream. Because it was never that cold in California.

16. Fried chicken. I have yet to fry my own, but I'll beg to be invited anywhere that it's done.

17. Biscuits. The kind only my grandpa could make.

18. Pillsbury cinnamon rolls. We had them for breakfast on Christmas mornings.

19. Steak. The grill was used every weekend of the year, no matter the weather. Complete with wood chips.

20. Popcorn shrimp and hush puppies. Until I could no longer order from the kids' menu.