On January 17th, there was an all employee meeting at the building where I work at.  Speculation was that they were going to shut the building down.  I, personally, had a lot of evidence to that regards, and perhaps I should have passed it on to my fellow employees, but I had no desire to panic anyone.  Especially since there was also a logical explanation for every item.

Unfortunately, it was revealed that yes, we were to close doors.  All employees were to either take up new jobs in other units, or move on.  Counseling sessions were provided on a one on one basis to explore the options, but the fact of the matter was…it was all over.

These are people I had worked with for 8 years.  People I had mooched candy from, taught math and computers to, people that invited me over for dinner.  If ever I had a family, this was it.  It is a tremendous vote of confidence to hear that most of a shift of workers threatened to quit if I did not re-take several job duties I had before…which I was none to happy to lose, but since I had been promoted out of the area, what was I to do?  I took them back, happily.

This was a job that bent over backwards to make sure I could finish college.  They let me change jobs and schedules as needed.  They let me fiddle with the computer system, develop bakery recipes, drive vehicles, and irritate powerful people.  Even when I was officially moved out of the building (except in office), I worked here.

These were good people, too.  Some of them had been doing the same job for 40 years.  They were reliable, dependable, and very easy going provided you didn’t insult their teams.  You could trust them to do what was needed to be done, and if they finished early, they went looking for more to do.  They never, ever looked down on me because I’m a little strange…on the contrary, one of them went out and learned to read and write because I was always doing it and enjoying it.  These were people that had a job, and they did it very well.

And now, all gone.  I might see one or two at other units (my position, since I don’t actually work here, didn’t change) but for the most of them, no more.

So perhaps, I might have put a little more thought then to wear my new dress trench coat to work the next day…

A new year, a new crop of new years resolutions to break by the end of the month.  January is a busy time at the fitness center I go to as people realize once again that yes, if they want to live longer, they’ll need to eat right, stop smoking, drink moderately or not at all, and exercise.  Thankfully, sex is considered good cardio, or else the population would all drop dead of a heart attack by 40.  Still, the first of the year has wall to wall people on the machines, with more waiting in the sidelines.  Except Fridays.  That’s local payday and sports night so I can go earlier and still have the place to myself.

Within one week, 80% of the influx was there.  Last Wednesday, we were down to slightly above normal.  Next month, if we continue this trend, we will have negative people trying to gain weight on the machines.  Still, that’s not the point to me writing…

We have our first grunter.  You know the type…over-sized arms, has to issue a noise every-time they do something as strenuous as tying their shoelaces, focused so much on developing muscles they get winded on short flights of stairs, there to be looked at.  Which is ironic, since most of my fellow energy burners are older then me by a decade or 6.  I surmise the grunt is a mating call of some sort.  It was our first, though, so I took the time to see what was up.

The red weights were up.  Every time.  Nothing less would do.  Lift, grunt, drop.  Not lower gently, these babies were so heavy they required the floor to be additionally padded and supported as no mere muscles could stop them from rejoining the ground.  Lift, grunt, drop.  3 sets of 6, with a 5 minute wait between each set.  On to the next machine.  Pull, grunt, drop.

And then, this bastion of mortal testosterone left.  I could never hope to live up to his physical abilities, let alone his auditory.

Except…last night, I decided to see just how much he was lifting.  The red weights?  45 lbs.  One on each side, plus the bar is 135.  For comparison, skinny little weak me with my spaghetti arms can only use the 40 lb weights, for a total of 125.  I do 3 sets of 12 with 1 minute between, no grunting or dropping.  Obviously I’m doing something wrong, as I am about to move up to the 45’s, and STILL don’t grunt with effort.  I might have to see a doctor about my inability to sound off!  I might NEVER get a shallow barby doll menatlity girlfriend!

Or perhaps, next time he comes in, I’ll just offer his some fiber.

This is an open letter to the young ladies on match.com.

I’m single.  This doesn’t bother me much, so I don’t do much to correct the situation.  I live in a small town, I hate to travel, and I am very much a geek.  Sports, nascar, religion, prime time tv…I can deal with all of this, but much prefer a good book or a decent video game, or even, god forbid, spending time with my small but high quality group of friends.  You know, people who don’t care that I don’t do stupid stuff.  So I am single.

Every once in a while, I get the urge to have female companionship of the heart.  Share feelings.  Cuddle.  Watch romantic comedies.  Small town, all my friends are married or male.  So I turn to match.com, eharmony, etc.  And you are there.

No, not just once, but every time.  I start dating, I date for a while, it fizzles, I take some time off.  Several months later, I try again.  I’m getting better at the dating thing, by the way, and some day might even get it right.  But I check to see if there are any new people on, and I see…you.  Again.  Or rather, still.  It’s been…years, for some of you.

You seem to be attractive.  Yes, I know pictures tend to lie on these places, but even so.  Most of you have a decent education, decent jobs, decent lives.  Your profiles are well written, and filled with things that make even me take notice.  Oh, and men outnumber you, sometimes 4 to 1.  And you are still there, updating your profiles, changing your pics to more recent ones, still looking.

I’ve had some good times with people I met from match.com.  Had some great relationships.  Met some wonderful people, who are all now married to other people who aren’t me.  The system does work, if you work at it.

What’s wrong?  What are you doing?  Are you too picky?  Are you waiting for the bolt of lightening?  Are you waiting for the deep pockets?  Or are you just looking, with no intention of ever buying?  I wonder, because I’ve winked and emailed some of you, and never received a reply.  Not even a polite “not interested”.  And yet, you are still there, month after month, year after year.  Why?

It’s not just one person.  There is a large group of you.  Maybe you don’t know what you want.  Maybe you do know, and it is completely unattainable.  Maybe you just log in in a moment of loneliness.  Maybe you just think very short term, not thinking long term.  Maybe you aren’t real people at all, but fakes put in to make men believe they have a chance at dating.

I wonder, and would truly love to know.