Pity the Poor Bad Risk

Self pitying blogs aside . . . amazing how fast the developments with a Bad Risk.

So, on Friday we had the awkward and horrible lounge experience where Risk Boy disappeared with my friend and made me feel absolutely terrible. The next morning, he wrote me an apology note saying that he just went off to bed because he didn't want to stay up too late. I wrote back saying I didn't end up waiting very long because from where I sat, it looked like he hooked up with Mary.

Still had my feelings hurt, but got a good sleep on Saturday night and felt way better yesterday.

Then last night who should plop down for dinner, drink in hand? You guessed it. Bad Risk. He was all jovial and friendly and we had a lovely time. The conversation ended up in relationship land . . . and low and behold he actually said to me that he recently had a conversation with someone and told them he was emotionally unavailable. (Shocking! Who would have guessed!) And then he actually admitted that he is going to just hurt all the women because of the evil woman who just hurt him. He said this out loud. Hahahahaha. I told him that was very cowardly, to which he responded rather dramatically, hands in the air.

Yep. cowardly.

So . . . we have all kinds of information here. He's having the emotionally unavailable conversation recently -- which means he has definitely hooked up . . . most probably with my friend. "Hurt all the women because of the woman who just hurt him," -- he's a complete mess right now and should be, one, pitied, and two, avoided.

Amazing how many of these guys are down here. And, the interesting thing to me . . . this guy is about to winter at the smallest station with only about 18 people on site. For seven months he will live in three buildings, surrounded by water, backed up to a glacier, no where to go, with 18 people, and nothing else. You don't think his demons will find him there?

Dude is either going to drink himself to death . . . or melt down and finally own all this shit.

Good luck, Risk Boy. See ya on the other side.

Bad Risk

Is it fair to allow yourself a heart break when you knew all along it was a bad risk?

Is it ok to wallow in self pity when it really was that you failed to act and someone got there first?

Is it ok to know that he was never going to be a forever love match, but still feel disappointed that the other girl won?

Is it ok to be sent for a tail spin when you watch him leave the room to get his drink, give a glance to her as she is totally flirting with another guy, and watch her run abruptly after him and disappear for too long?

Is it fine to guzzle your drink so you don't sit waiting for them both to return? In fairness . . . I waited longer than the guy she was flirting with . . . when he gave up, I washed my glass and got out of there fast.

I feel 13. With braces and polyester clothes. I feel like I am sitting on the ground, cross legged at an assembly trying to breathe shallow breaths because my clothes don't fit. I remember being completely transfixed in class because my bra made folds in my back that I would try desperately to suck in. Try sucking in your back sometime. It will definitely take your mind off math.

Everything about me is so obvious. Everything about me is a loser, unchosen and misunderstood. I am such an undesirable mongrel of a woman. Fat and lame and uninteresting and poorly read and useless. I don't fit anywhere.

Anywhere.

Over and over an over and over again.

I'm sure it will pass.

He was a bad risk, after all.

Republican? Party boy? 31 years old?

What was I thinking letting his good opinion influence me?

And for fuck sake . . . I'll know him for 4 months. Tops. And then he'll be gone. This is summer camp, Baby. It ain't real.

But, God damnit . . . I did let his good opinion influence me. And now I am silly and foolish and disheartened.

I swear to God . . . there isn't anyone. Ever. Who will choose me.

Is there?

Why Do I Want to Fuck a Republican?

What makes a conservative, fiscally responsible man seem attractive? Why would I ever be attracted to that?

The perception of strength?

Feeling the heartless killer in him?

The strange assumption that Manliness looks like a bully?

Or does it come from the propaganda? Daddy doesn't believe in welfare and goes hunting and provides . . . but Mommy gives pies to the hobo's who come off the rails?

Is this a Grandpa complex?

He puts ice cream in his coffee.

And I am transported.

Talk about baggage.

Holy Jesus.

Loving the Thing

I was talking to a bitchy coworker the other day and she was bitching about the company and the program and how frustrating it all was and how no one wants to commit to going back to Denver because we all get treated so badly and now I'm thinking about that conversation and I'm thinking that this bitchy coworker has it wrong.

The USAP will continue with or without us, her and me. It will do just fine. And when I said this to her, she said, but you would hope that if you worked this hard you would make a difference and make it better when you left.

She actually still thinks you can make a thing or a system or a program better by hard work and contributions.

And, I'm sitting here thinking that you can't.

Because she will leave and someone new will take her place and undo what she has done . . . for better or for worse.

Shit changes all the time.

And none of it matters.

We -- the people involved -- will only make a difference on the other people who are here. And then, only briefly. Not that we could change them or make them worse or better . . . but the people are the ones who remember us -- not the system or the program. Because in so many ways the system and the program are just constructs that we make right now. Hire someone new and the whole construct is changed completely.

I wonder how many of us think about the program and nurture the program as if it would remember us. Like Greenies. They think "Earth" gives a shit . . . but it's a thing. We can pollute it all up and kill all of god's little creatures, and it will continue to spin around and around, barren and dry and poisonous. It doesn't notice we're here.

We may love it . . . but it's just a thing.

Like the program.

A Picture of Myself

I have a feeling that after this season, I will have a clearer picture of myself. All of my musings and wonderings have been about what I want and who I really am. Maybe that is always what my musings are about . . . but lately many things are becoming more and more clear.

1. I really don't ever want to supervise people. People cause problems and do stupid shit when they shouldn't. If you are responsible for them, you have to constantly deal with their stupid shit and make them do things correctly. I don't want a job like that.

2. I have lost all faith in project management techniques. Earned value is a wank.

3. The bigger questions of the USAP are far more interesting to think about and talk about than the small stumbling blocks that face us every day.

4. The USAP will continue with or without people I used to think were critical. It may not be as easy when folks leave, but I have a very clear sense now that the station goes forward with or without any of our help . . . whether we want to admit it or not.

5. I am not, nor can I pretend to be, a "whoo!" girl. Just can't do it. Never do I feel compelled to "whoo!" and jump around in some kind of "wacky" frenzy. "Oh my God! I'm so crazy!" I don't want to wear leopard pants. I don’t want to express my sexuality all over my coworkers on the dance floor. I don't want to drink to get wasted and messy, and I don't ever want to do shots of anything ever again.

6. And, I'm getting increasingly irritated by those who do.

7. I want to hang out with and will trust people who can handle their alcohol, no matter how much they drink.

8. What I like to do more than anything else is sit around and talk.

9. Who I like to talk to are people smarter and more experienced than me. People who are over the stupid shit and the shot-doing and who can value what I bring to the conversation. I like the grantees because they are smart and funny and academics. I LOVE the Drillers because they have lived fast and rough and are just over the little shit.

10. I would prefer a road housie, dive bar full of interesting people, drinking and smoking and telling bullshit stories over just about anything.

Just when you post . . .

You read your sister's letter with great advice and the IceCube Boy is charming and smiley and flirty again.

He's so hot.

Maybe it was just New Years that spooked him.

Now . . . the game becomes follow the advice and see what happens.

Wish me luck.

IceCube Boy

Once upon a time at Bingo a funny, lovely IceCube Boy sat down next to me.

Tonight, here I sit, thinking only of him and his friends drinking in the lounge upstairs . . . wishing I had become more important.

A few days ago I would have said it was ON. He was flirty. He would watch as I moved. He would go out of his way to talk to me and invite me to the lounge to drink. There was tension. And then I made mention of how interesting and cool his grizzled old boss was . . . how I wanted to be him . . . and the grizzled old boss kind of took a liking to me and drank whiskey with me and told me I was beautiful . . . and now I don't know what happened.

Somehow the flirty and the tension with IceCube Boy has ended. And I miss it. I miss the exciting possibility of him. The IceCube Boy.

It wasn't like he was my super double plus love match . . . he's a Republican, after all. And he drinks fruit punch and Captain's. What kind of man drinks fruit punch and dark rum? But I sure liked the nervous and the expectant and the joy I could carry around all day waiting to run into him. And I sure would have like to get laid, to tell you the truth.

But now . . . I think our bloom has faded.

I tried. I tried to get his attention. I did get a kiss happy new year . . . but seconds after he ran away.

The Boss, you ask? Why do I flirt and drink whiskey with this grizzled old, unavailable man? (Boss Man has a girlfriend back home). Because he flirted back. Because he stopped playing pool because "why would I play a stupid game when I could drink whiskey with a beautiful woman?" Hello! Because he recognized the importance of the attention of a woman. Because he was shocked and pleased by said attention.

Young men don't flirt with me.

I'm not HOT.

I don't turn heads.

I'm interesting.

Old, grizzled men know the treasure of an interesting woman.

You know what The Boss said to me . . . which I'm sure the IceCube Boy may have heard?

He told me I needed to stop shopping for men in the boy's department.

Isn't that fantastic?

Who knows. Maybe a 55 year old, grizzled and cynical old driller makes more sense. The IceCube Boy is 31 -- 8 years my junior -- and isn't all that wise to the world, really. He wants to be "wacky" and "party." Good dude, you can tell. Very, very good dude. Smart Motherfucker. But young. He doesn't understand that he's interesting. He's trying to be fun all the time.

Boss knows. Boss knows what life is . . . and Boss knows how to talk to a Woman.

And, maybe it's time I realize I'm a Woman.

Who knows.

Small Town Boredom

In my far away place I run the store. There's only one store. It's a booming business. This morning I was sitting with some very funny IceCube people at breakfast and they made mention that one of their own, Sven, was so bored he started shoplifting. I sort of coughed and motioned to myself . . . that "hey now" kind of gesture, and Tim laughed and said "He brings it back the next day."

And we all laughed.

We all know Sven. He's one of the finest, most helpful, most honest men here. Of course he would bring it back.

And what a weird thing to think up to amuse yourself.

Shoplifting one day, and smuggling it back the next.

Huh?