loser

My working theory is that we're all losers desperately trying to hide it. We could be losers because of a hobby, or because of an off-center sense of humor, or because of our history, or because of natural social awkwardness.

We all try and hide our loserness. Desperately attempting to be cooler than next guy. And we're lucky in life we can find a handful of people who won't mind the loser. So here it is.

(Finally a chance to list!)

I am a loser because:

1. I secretly love databases - they make sense when there is none.
2. I pretend not to care when really I'm a romantic.
3. My favorite food will always be chicken fingers.
4. I know how to knit - no excuse for this one.
5. I learned to play the guitar in my church's rock band. Rockin' it for Jesus!
6. My mother suffers from manic depression and my step-father was an alcoholic who over-dosed on drugs.
7. There's nothing better than the smell of gasoline.
8. I've cried to my share of Lifetime movies.
9. I wish I grew up to be a rockstar. I sing in my livingroom and pretend it sounds good.
10. I believe in the power of soundtracks and often think my iPod is the backdrop to my own personal movie.
11. Shoes are my guilty pleasure.
12. My father doesn't recognize me as his daughter.
13. I dance alone in my livingroom on a regular basis.
14. I always wish I was something more.

the wallets

It's a given that women in IT are sparse, and in being one of the few, I occasionally find myself mixed in with a group I call the Wallets.

At around 9pm last night I found myself at a dimly lit round table at The Old Homestead Steak House in Manhattan with 10 senior managers and senior executives - all of which were men. From a distance the scene may have looked like a semi-official business dinner as we engaged in serious conversation and they continuously consulted their Blackberrys.

As the only female and by far the lowest ranking member of the group, I was clearly an outsider catching a glimpse in. I think the natural reaction to being placed in such a situation would be severe discomfort and a tendency to retreat from conversation. But something I discovered along the way is how very little the men I was sitting with have changed from the nerds I knew in school. Conversation topics have transitioned from computer specs and cartoons to project bids and stock portfolios. But what hasn't changed is the underlying context of these conversations. It's status. It's knowing whose penis is bigger than the next guy's. It's proving to the rest of the room that you're better, richer, smarter, whatever.

My role in the boy's club is an easy one - to remind them of the insecure nerd they really are and to knock them down a notch. The fact that I'm a girl gives me a safety net.

After dinner and a few bottles of wine, a nightclub seemed like the most appropriate destination. Table and bottle service of course. Here's to you boys!

the jig is up

It's those moments when you have the perfect crowd-stopping, silence-invoking thing to say mapped out in your mind when the words become trapped in a net somewhere in the back of your throat. It's when you have an entire speech formulated that is just the right mixture of powerful and strong without becoming too emotional that somehow becomes frozen at the sight of your target.

I find myself brewing over these words, precisely choosing each one knowing full well that I won't ever say them. I'll spend my morning commute, my daily shower, my nights meticulously editing and revising. Even five minutes after writing this, I'll come up with something better. This is what I'll never have the courage to say.

You humiliated me. You humiliated me with such ease and comfort it almost seemed routine. I pretend to be fine but that's all I am doing - pretending. I'm not even sure if I am pretending for your sake or mine anymore.

To say that I hate you would be too easy. I am disappointed in you and what you turned out to be, but even worse I am disappointed in myself for choosing to ignore it for so long. I got lost in what you could be so much so that I became blind to what you are.

I became that girl who ignores the obvious when it is staring her in the face. You made me that girl and I allowed you to.

I cannot change you or what you have done. I can only change the open door I've held for you. I will no longer waste another night on you. I won't wait for your calls or search for meaning when there is none. And perhaps you won't even notice but at the very least I'll know that I deserve more than what little you have to offer. At the very least soon I'll be fine and soon I won't even remember you.

The jig is up. I'm onto you.

tAnkAh, mexico

The seven of us arrived in Mexico pale, clueless, and in severe need of a drink. We had a skeletal game plan in mind: get ourselves to Mexico, drive two hours in a foreign country to a beach house none of us had seen, load up on food and drinks somewhere along the way, park it on the beach, make it out alive.

This adventure was one that I happened to stumble into during a last minute trip home to Buffalo. Over several rounds of drinks the plan unfolded. Less than a week later I solidified my drunken promise and purchased an airline ticket and incredibly enough it all went off flawlessly. My only complaint would be that it ended too quickly.

During this time, I was forced to leave everything behind whether I wanted to or not. There was no Internet and no cell phone reception and I am endlessly thankful for that.

I spent this trip with a group of people who put me back in touch with where I come from, who celebrate the Buffalo long A, who are not above eating hot dogs meal after meal. They reminded me that a work deadline is not life or death and in the larger picture there are infinitely more important things.

We kept ourselves busy alternating between the beach, the private pool, grilling, snorkeling in a cenote, seeing the Mayan ruins at Tulum, drinking, and of course laughing until it hurt.