so very alone…

Last night I went to bed planning to get up this morning and beg my sister, Richard, Bertha, a coworker from a place I used to work at, a former manager from two jobs ago, and a neighbor I once collected mail for during his vacation to be my work and personal references.

I did not like this idea at all. I don’t know some of these people well at all, some of them may not remember me, some of them may or may not even like me, and the rest I already have concerns about being too beholden to.

But I woke up about 4:00 am with the easiest, most elegant solution possible: I’ll be my own references. Thanks to the magic of Skype, fifteen minutes later I had six new phone numbers, in four different area codes.

Half an hour after that, I had several new email addresses, each from a different domain name (one from Google, one from Yahoo, one from Hotmail, two from Mail.com, two from different domains I own).

I’m trusting that nobody uses snailmail anymore; if the HR guy asks for addresses I just won’t reply and will chalk it up to experience. It’s not like this job’s a dream come true or anything.

I have a feeling that my references are going to have excellent things to say about me.

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This morning I got an email from the HR guy where I interviewed Monday. It said that he would like me to provide the references my resume says I would provide upon request.

I don’t have any idea who I’m going to put on that list. Maybe I’ll just bail.

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My head feels like it’s going to explode. Part of me wishes it would, just so I could be done with this incredible stuffy nose and sinus headache I’ve got from this cold.

I went in for a job interview yesterday afternoon. I figured I didn’t need to dress up much, because the place isn’t paying that great. So I went wearing khakis and a white shirt.

I had planned to wear a tie, but I was incredibly uncomfortable when I buttoned the shirt collar. Too tight!

As soon as I got into the lobby, I wished I had bought (or otherwise acquired) a new shirt, because I was the only one there not wearing a tie.

I talked with three different people, and only one of them mentioned the dress code, and it was in the form of a question: "Do you have a problem with wearing a tie to work?" I said I didn’t, even though I have never heard before of IT having to dress like management.

Anyway, the first interview went really well. It was a technical interview, and I started enjoying myself. He was throwing "what if" scenarios my way and I could tell they weren’t hypothetical. This guy was really trying to get me to solve problems they’re having right now.

I went to the whiteboard and started diagramming. I kind of lost track of time. It felt good to be thinking, solving puzzles, doing what I’m good at.

The second interview was with the first guy’s boss. This interview was laughable. "What are your greatest strengths? And what are your weaknesses?" Gee, sir, my greatest weakness is that I sometimes work so hard that I forget myself and pull all-nighters, often accomplishing my yearly objectives in half the time expected. This causes angst amongst my co-workers.

"Give me an example of a work situation in which you failed, and what would you do differently?" Well, sir, I once only exceeded my productivity goals by 40% and while that still brought the average of the team up, I felt it wasn’t as good as I could have done. I blame the malaria from which I was suffering, and now eat citrus fruit religiously.

Seriously, where do these guys get these questions? Does anyone really get trapped by these?

The third interview was with HR. I’m not sure if this was one of those companies where the first interviewers send feedback to HR right away so HR knows whether to dig deep or get rid of the candidate, but if so, I did well in the first interviews, because the HR guy (I was really glad all three of my interviews were with men) asked a lot of questions that led me to believe I could expect an offer before too long.

But by then, I had been in the building for about 2.5 hours and my Dayquil was starting to wear off. My nose started running, and I hadn’t brought tissue. I excused myself to go to the restroom, blew my nose (my ears popped when I did this, which felt fantastic…am I the only one who really loves the sensation of having your ears pop?) and came back.

Even as I sat down, though, I realized I had forgotten to bring some extra toilet paper, just in case. Shit.

Of course, within two minutes my nose started running again. I knew I couldn’t wipe my nose on my sleeve, so I excused myself again. This time I remembered to get some extra tissue.

Before long, of course, my nose started running again, so I…as discreetly as possible…blew my nose.

And then my nose started bleeding. Not a big gusher of a bloody nose, just the kind of bloody nose you get when you’ve been blowing it non-stop for two days.

I excused myself a third time. In the bathroom, I pinched my nose for a minute and the blood stopped. I went back in and the HR guy immediately said that it seemed like I needed to get home and take care of myself and he had pretty much finished with his questions anyway.

I offered my hand without thinking and the HR guy said, "Thanks, but I’ve got a baby at home; I’ve got to be careful not to get her sick." I admit that the way he said this made me really like this HR guy. He gave me an honest refusal without being mean about it, but also gave a short clear explanation that made sense. I wish I could do that.

I figure that an HR guy like this will get back to me fairly quickly with a Yes or No.

I can’t tell whether I want this job. The job doesn’t pay as well as I’m used to and I hate the idea of wearing a tie. But I liked two of the three people who interviewed me, and the management guy at least was lame in a very conventional sense.

UPDATE: I was about two thirds of the way finished writing this about five hours ago when B. showed up. She said she was here to "take care of" me. Which meant that I had to lay on the couch while she talked to me about how she was taking the day off work for me, and then talked about her book club and the personality deficiencies of everyone in it, and then talked about the books she’s trying to decide between for when it’s her turn to choose a book…and I’m pretty sure it’s not even her turn until about nine months from now. And all this time, all I could think was, "What I really want to do is surf the web and watch TV and fall asleep when I feel like it." But she didn’t let me do any of these things.

Finally, I told her I needed some Nyquil, after which I pretended to fall asleep almost immediately. She let herself out. I feel bad for deceiving her, but I don’t want company right now.

I am not sure whether that counted as a date or not. I can’t imagine asking, either.

Just checked email, nothing from the HR guy yet, and it’s been a full business day. Too soon to expect anything anyway.

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All my feelings of calm had evaporated by the time the doorbell rang around 7:00. I thought my aches and nausea  were from nervousness, but I realize now that I had started to come down with a real bug. At least I think so. Just as I was about to get the door, B. opened it from the outside. She seemed surprised that I was coming to the door, as if I had barged in on her barging in. I thought about saying something about privacy, decided to keep things on a positive note, and returned her hug.

She looked worse than I remembered. I tried hard to focus on the good rather than the bad. I wanted to break down my wall by avoiding easy criticisms, so I tried to find things I really liked about her appearance. I still liked her walk, as I mentioned, which is a clumsy, purposeful strut. I wanted to like her soft skin, but her arms were covered with light brown hair that gave me the willies.

On the way to the restaurant, I tried to talk about science fiction, but she’s more of an English major type. She told me she’d read The Hobbit and Fahrenheit 451, and then she changed the conversation to Jane Austin. B. loves Pride and Prejudice. She was furious with the most recent film adaptation, which I’d never seen (and never will see–I can’t stand chick lit). She went on a long diatribe about how the film supported everything Jane Austin herself was making fun of. Still, B. was enthusiastic about something, and that nearly made it very nearly enjoyable.  At least it kept the pressure off me for coming up with stuff to say.

She was still talking about the various adaptations of Jane Austin’s novels when we were seated at a little table by the window. My legs were wobbly and I felt dizzy. Before I knew it, we were talking about wine. That is to say, she was talking about wine. For me, there are two kinds of wine — tolerable (red) and bad (white), but I never got the chance to say that. B. was going on and on about how some kind of wine used to be underrated until some movie came out, and now that type of wine has become overrated. I was beginning to think we had nothing in common.

During the meal, I was distracted by three thoughts:

1. What would happen with my credit card?
2. What would happen at the end of the date?
3. Could I fart without noise or odor?

As I continued to hold in my gas, this last distraction became my only distraction. My stomach began gurgling, my cheeks were clenched, and I started sweating. B. started sending food back. First, she sent back her goat cheese tarts because they were “undersalted” and “not acidic enough.” That made no sense to me but the server took it back without question. Then she sent back her overcooked pasta and her undercooked chicken. All my food was fine.

I think we were at the restaurant for a little more than an hour, but it felt like five hours. After dessert, I couldn’t handle my stomach anymore, so I asked to be excused. I waddled into the bathroom and spent about ten minutes working out all the gas that had built up, half-praying and half-swearing. By the time I returned to the table, B. was signing the bill. I protested, but she waved me off and said I could get the next one.

It’s possible that I wasn’t paying attention to the conversation in which we agree to go back to B.’s apartment to watch a recording of Pride and Prejudice. I think it’s more likely that she planned on doing that all along and just forgot to tell me. B. had some A&E version of Pride and Prejudice on her DVR, along with about a dozen other “Masterpiece” recordings — she said something about “Jane Austin month.”
As we entered her two-bedroom apartment, my heart was pounding. We sat down on her couch — which I would have sent back for having too many pillows — and she said “Make yourself comfortable” as she put my arm around her. At random times during the boring movie, she would turn her face very close to mine and tilt her head — I think because she wanted me to kiss her. I was nauseous again for some reason. Maybe it was my sickness, or maybe it was nervousness, or maybe it was something else. Finally, I did the bravest thing I’ve ever done in my whole life.

I kissed her.

I’ve kissed (or been kissed) a few times, but they’ve always been pecks. I have never in my life been on a couch making out with a girl. My mind was whirling out of control during this time, maybe ten minutes.

“Open up,” she said. I didn’t know what she meant.

“Let your love out,” she said. I didn’t know what that meant either.

After a while, she stopped me and said, “We can’t have sex until the fifth date.” And then we started kissing again. I wondered if the fifth date thing was her rule, or the rule of the book she was reading or what, but I have the feeling that if we have a fifth date, sex is not only possible, but mandatory.

More later. I’ve got to get ready for my interview.

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I’ll post more about my date with B. last night, but I need sleep first. I woke up with a terrible cold this morning and don’t feel like doing anything at all right now. Except taking more Nyquil. I definitely feel like taking more Nyquil.

I’m turning off my phone, too. I just want to be left alone.

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Bad things tend to come in twos and threes, and I’m beginning to suspect that good things come in fives.

First of all, I recovered from the disastrous first date B. and I had without the damage I expected to incur. And in fact, it led to a second date. Tonight, in fact. I have to say, though, that the possibility of an actual relationship made it impossible to sleep last night. What will I talk about? I really don’t know. I really have no idea whether B. likes sci-fi, or video games. I wonder if I might be able to talk to her about racquetball. That seems like a more typical “guy thing” a non-geek might talk about.

I feel fuzzy-headed, but I’ll take a nap later in the day. I don’t have anything I have to do today, except go and buy some new deodorant and aftershave. I’ve let myself go a bit lately.

Second, I got The Orange Box in the mail from Amazon.com yesterday. I am now spending every available moment playing Portal. This might be the best video game ever created. I already got to the end of the game, where I got to hear the end credits song — which I immediately recognized as something Jonathan Coulton could have written. A few moments with Google showed me that in fact he did write the song.

Anyways, I’m playing through the game a second time right now, this time trying to destroy all the security cameras as I go through. If you love action / puzzle games and have a sense of humor, I can’t recommend this game strongly enough.

Third, I have gotten an interview with a bank’s IT department. Monday. The upper end of the salary range is lower than what I used to make, but to tell the truth I’m willing to take a lower-paying job just to get past the anxiety of unemployment. I can keep looking for a better job once I’m working again.

Fourth, I got the Bloggie award. That’s validating. I wonder if I could start selling advertising on this site now. I’m not sure what kind of ads I’d sell, though. Ads for dating services, maybe? Ha.

And finally, I had an excellent conversation with my sister yesterday. She called, and I answered her questions directly and without rancor. Although when I say “directly,” you shouldn’t assume that also means “truthfully.” Which is to say, I told her my job is going fine, and that yes, I am now seeing a therapist and am making good progress. I was tempted to tell her about B., but I knew that would just bring questions and probably disapproval.

The total conversation duration was nine minutes, a new recored for brevity. I believe I will tell her her exactly what she hears from now on.

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I feel strangely at ease. Not only am I not stressed about my date with B. tomorrow night, but I’m looking forward to it. (I’m calling her B. now because “Bertha” makes it sound like she’s a mean cow.) Since I don’t have a job, I’ve had a lot of time to think about things and sort out some of my issues. One problem area for me — obviously — is my approach to women. I realize now that I have demanded perfection in order to put up a shield. I get crushes on beautiful women that I have no chance of getting with. Even worse, I end up sabotaging any chance before it starts. I’ll either act too meek or I lash out. And I ignore everyone else as flawed.

I’m a new man.

I am now celebrating the humanness in everyone I meet. It’s my plan to treat any “flaw” as a potentially endearing trait that’s hindering inner beauty. This approach makes me feel better about myself, and it makes me feel better about other people.

It was B. herself who helped me to realize this. When she barged into my condo, I was furious at first. I normally would have yelled and cursed, but B. was so calm and matter-of-fact about the whole thing that curiosity got the best of me. She told me to sit down because what she had to say was going to take some time. And then she laid out her whole approach to life. I wish I could remember exactly what she said — something about not being held back by love we didn’t receive in the past but by love we’re not giving in the present. And she said our deepest fear is that we are not inadequate. Rather, our deepest fear is that we are powerful and good. Playing small doesn’t serve anyone. Once we free ourselves from fear, we learn to love. I hate to admit this, but I cried yet again.

I feel like I am falling backwards off a cliff, and B. is there to catch me. I’m a new man. I am ready. I even got pants from Walmart. The pants aren’t the best I’ve ever had, but the price was right.

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I feel bad for transcribing Bertha’s phone messages in yesterday’s post. While they seemed funny and a little scary to me, they don’t reflect the real Bertha. In fact, I feel bad for calling her “Bertha.” I should have called her “Jennifer” or at least something less witchy like “Matilda.” You see, Bertha came over to my condo last night. Fortunately, I had left the front door unlocked, so she just walked in when I didn’t answer. (I NEVER answer the doorbell unless I’m expecting someone.) If I had locked the door, I wouldn’t have gotten to know Bertha well enough to know that she isn’t crazy, unless of course she climbed through a window. She has a strong will and a forcefulness that’s refreshing. I even like the way she walks. She hangs a little forward and stomps along as if she’s constantly regaining her balance. Something about her combination of vulnerability and assertiveness appeals to me. We’re going out on a date on Friday night. Just the two of us. She’s driving.

Isolation score: 1

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I finally broke down and listened to my phone messages.

Message 1 (Bertha): Hi [Harlan]. This is [Bertha]. Our first date didn’t exactly end the way I was hoping. Please call me. My number is 317-555-2323. I look forward to hearing from you. Thanks! Bye!

Message 2 (Bertha): Hi Harlan. Bertha again. Listen, you need to call me back. I can’t stand the thought of being ignored. That is not how this relationship is going to end! You have my number. 317-555-2323. I expect to hear from you soon.

Message 3 (Bertha): [Heavy sigh, hangs up]

Message 4 (Richard): Hi [Harlan]. Look, congratulations on winning the award, even though [unintelligible nonsense about “warped reflection of reality”]. Harlan, you really need to call Bertha back. Do it for me, okay? She’s not going to let this go. Take it easy. Oh - [Herman] says hi.

Message 5 (Bertha): Harlan, I’m so sorry for putting pressure on you. People say I have a tendancy to come on a little strong sometimes, so call me whenever it’s convenient. Great, thanks! 317-555-2323. Bye!

Message 6 (Bertha): OK, Harlan, this is getting really old. You NEED to call me back. Look, I want to talk about what happened. I thought things were going great until I had that little reaction to the eel rolls. And then you were gone. That is not how our relationship is going to end. I want you to know that.  That’s just not the way it’s going to end, okay? So call me back. 317-555-2323. That’s 317-555-2323. I know you’re there!

There were several more messages, but you get the point. If I weren’t flat broke, I’d have my number changed. By the way, has anyone noticed that it’s getting harder to borrow money? It’s been a few weeks since I’ve gotten a sheet of blank checks from a credit card company.

Isolation Score: 6

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The phone has been ringing all day long. Sometimes Bertha leaves messages. Most of the time she hangs up. I also can see Richard’s left a message. Between the two of them, I’m up to 7 messages. I’ll listen to them tomorrow. I can’t deal with them just yet.

No calls from potential employers, though.

One of the nice things about not answering the phone is that people think you’re out doing something. For all they know, I could be at a zoo. I could be doing charity work or playing a pick-up basketball game with buddies, and then maybe going out afterwards for a beer and hitting on chicks in a bar.

If I answer the phone, the caller instantly knows I’m hanging out at my condo in the middle of the day, probably watching television or living my life on the Internet. So there’s no way I’m answering the phone. But I’ll probably break down and listen to the messages.

I just have this odd feeling that I need to steer clear of Bertha. Something about her frightens me.

The one genuinely interesting thing that happened today was winning a 2008 Bloggie award for Best Blog. When it was announced, I actually got a little bit dizzy. Thanks for voting for me. This blog is actually the one thing in my life that I’m sort of proud of.

Isolation Score: 2

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