Ok, how this isn’t an ongoing theme for my blog…I just don’t know.
Maybe I should try making #ATIDTW a thing.
I realized after my walk this morning – doing prep for a larger entry tomorrow – that I was wearing mismatched socks. No biggie…it’s just a Saturday morning walkabout.
It was the second time this week. No, they weren’t the opposites of the other mismatched set. Yes, last time was a workday.
I guess I should be more careful about golfing laundry in dim lighting.
Or around wine.
I barely avoided sending a snarky email to the owner of the company I am consulting for the other day. I realized I had somehow chosen to “reply all” as I was proofreading it – I’ll explain what that means later, Silver Fox – and decided it was safer to just tell her in person.
In a small victory over my own awkwardness, I fell into my chair at work without spilling my coffee. I was attempting to sip coffee, hip-check my chair so it spun so that I could sit down and turn around all at the same time. My foot landed on one of the casters, sending me off balance as I turned and my chair skittering in the opposite direction from my vector.
I fell backward.
Somehow, I hit the chair.
Coffee sloshing but not spilling.
Thank gawd I was alone in the office, but I still looked to make sure not even the Chief Feline Officer was present to witness my derp.
No, neither of those three things – socks, reply all or near fall – happened on the same day.
I am only in the office three days a week, so I’m batting 1000 in the awkward department for this week.
I had a date this week. Someone I met online and decided to throw $20 at to see if he was as good in person as he was online.
A cute construction worker type. Maybe 5’8″, so right there in my shorty sweet spot.
And while he was an engaging conversationalist, he was also a good listener. Letting me prattle on about me-things while he listened attentively and encouraged me with relevant follow up questions instead of scrambling to get the conversation back to himself.
Turns out…he was 20!
While he was trying to sell me on the fact that he was almost 21, I was asking him if he voted in the last election.
“Nope. I wasn’t old enough, silly! But I’m voting in 2020, for sure!”
“Nono. In the midterms!”
At least I came away from the encounter with something more upsetting to me than his age.
And to cap off my week in derp, I stopped on my walkabout this morning for a coffee. It was my backup coffee shop because it was geographically desirable, plus my primary shop opens at 9 on Saturdays and it was only 8-ish.
I haven’t been in in about a month because my Barista Boyfriend has a girlfriend now. Or at least he did last time I was there at the beginning of November. We were the only two people sitting on the mezzanine and he stopped by to kiss her.
No kiss for me, though. But fresh off a really good kiss (goddamnit!) from The Toddler yesterday, I figured there’s worse things than being fake betrayed by fake boyfriends.
“Oh my god! It’s been so long!” – Female Barista, Boyfriend Barista was looking on, smiling from behind his La Marzocco.
“Coma.” – Me
“You look all flush! How are you feeling now?” – FB
“I think it’s just walking in the cold. Or maybe my scarf is too tight! I miss Elvis, though.”
“That was a long coma…”
We went on to chat a bit more, then finally convincing me that I needed a hot coffee if I was going back out. Might as well be a peppermint mocha, too if it’s the only hot coffee of the season.
I also found myself without my reusable bamboo straw, this being a spontaneous event. FB convinced me to get one of the metal straws, since it had a silicone tip and she could chew on it.
“Well, you can chew on the bamboo straws if you really want to.”
“P’shaw…I’m not a panda!”
“Whatever you say, Ping Ping.” – Me, in perfect deadpan.
That was the awkward, by the way….
“Well, I may be Chinese, but I’ll leave the bamboo chewing to the pros. I’ll still answer to Ping Ping, though, but only for you!” She gives her coworker a little side eye warning.
She was laughing, as was Boyfriend Barista and I thought Ping Ping could stick. Still, there I was…totally feeling like a latent racist for bringing panda names into the conversation with someone who turned out to be of Chinese heritage.
It registers on some level with me when someone is a POC. But that level is the same level as hair color.
Still, when race comes up, so does my guilt. Honestly, I couldn’t profile an Asian person’s race if there was a million bucks riding on it. For a cool mil, I might make a guess. Otherwise, I just don’t care.
One of my best friends is Philippino. Something I only remember because she nicknamed herself Filipina Fox. The Silver Fox’s daughter in law is Asian, but I have no idea what race. She’s from Las Vegas and Seattle, the end.
Anyway, with Ping Ping, I decided to ignore her race drop in and pivot. I segued to panda trivia.
“Did you know that it costs $10 million a year for China to loan out pandas? That’s per panda.”
“Yup. Key word: loan.”
“Goddamn. That’s quite a racket!”
“And any pandas born while they are on loan belong to China, not the host country! No anchor pandas allowed!”
The discussion went on from there, but I never got to impress them with the full extent of my panda trivia because people came in.
I’d bought my cool reusable straw –
– but I did manage an aside to my two-timing Barista Boyfriend as he topped off his latte art with a few dollops of chocolate whipped cream.
“Hey, if anyone asks for a loaner straw for their drink, charge them $10. Per drink, no free use on refills!”
“Right? Why should China have all the fun?!?”
I don’t think these things only happen to me. I do kinda think that it’s possible no one embraces their awkward with as much vigor as I do, though…