How Barry Made Me Friends

Making friends as an adult is HARD. Like for real. Unlike in school, you do not have an infinite pool to choose from or an unlimited amount of time to hang out and get to know them. By the time you are in your 30s you are choosing between people you meet at work or friends of your existing friends or SO. Both of these are viable options and can work out, but I have always been hesitant about mixing work people with my outside life. At work, I tend to be very focused and professional and don't want to cross that line into delving into my personal life. I'm pretty sure this stems from my first job in NYC. I was young and dumb, and hence I was super open and it got awkward....let's just say that I hugged my boss, more than once. It got to be a thing I did, until she strategically arranged a conversation with me in the room where she announced that she didn't like hugs. I was 22 and should have known better, but it happened and I still cringe when I think about it and am - right now - turning various shades of red just remembering.... 

After that, work life balance became not just about me having a life outside of work - it became having a separate life from work. I became a mystery to my co-workers, some of my former colleagues still have no idea if I even have parents. For the most part this has worked out successfully for me. However, every once in awhile my Midwestern friendliness breaks through and I find myself with a friend. That is how I ended up with L., who has the opposite view and is friends with all her co-workers. Less than a month on the job she asked me if I wanted to go run a 5k on a perfectly nice Saturday morning, I kept walking down the hall and called over my shoulder "The only way you will see me running is if there is something big and scary behind me." Nevertheless she persisted and within 6 months, I broke my rule and made one of my best friends. (A year later I ran that damn 5k with her. She is sneakier than she first appears.) 

Fast forward 4 years, which is how long I have been at my current job, and no work friends. I had some casual lunch buddies, a select few who I might go grab a drink with, I was doing good. And then it happened. This fall they hired two new managers. And dammit I liked them, as people. Not only were they funny, sarcastic, and smart - but they cut through the office politics and were willing to call people on their BS - I respected them. Next thing I knew we were texting and after 6 months, I sent the following:

K: I just met my new neighbor Barry - who broke up with his GF and got roomies to save money, but is now looking at 3 different single units in the building. He used to be in radio, but is now in sales, drives a yellow smart car, and was drinking coconut liquor coffee whiskey, and flax seed milk in a coffee mug while having a smoke. I'm exhausted just after listening to him. I don't think I told him more than - I moved here on April 15, and what I was drinking (coconut water and gin). I'm not sure he breathed while imparting all this knowledge to me. I think he thinks my name is Carol.
S: hahahahahahaha!!

  

K: If I marry him, please read this as a toast. Also if I ever try to date him - slap me.
S: I can do both. Promise.

And with this exchange I realized that it happened again, I made friends with my co-workers, and I was okay with it. Living in a transient city like DC means that people are always coming and going, and the last few years I have had a number of very dear friends make the decision to go. Having some new people, especially ones who can make a promise like S., around is pretty awesome. I know I will always struggle with breaking that boundary in the office, but so far it has served me pretty well. And now I enjoy having a couple people in the office who know that I DO have parents, if I had a date the night before, and when I drank a little too much on a Thursday night. So, while I haven't conquered the making friends in your 30s thing, I have definitely made some strides in the right direction. And who knows, maybe Barry will be next*!



*I have not seen Barry since that fateful night in May, so no updates on which unit he ended up in, and S. has not had to slap me yet. But it has only been a month and I signed a 2-year lease...

Most Likely to be Kidnapped

Although not an actual superlative in high school - I certainly would have been the winner of the category. Growing up I had little worry of being kidnapped, it wasn't that we lived in an overly safe area where things like that never happened (although now that I think about it I can't recall any kidnappings), it was more that I grew up hearing, "we don't have to worry about Kara getting kidnapped, they will return her in under an hour." Don't worry this came from my brother not my parents. I was a gregarious kid. My parents, bless their hearts, tried to create games to get me to be quiet, a favorite being "Who can be Quiet for the Longest" - spoiler alert - not me. So my brother, rightfully so, assumed that should I be kidnapped, I wouldn't shut up and eventually they'd be begging my family to take me back. He was kind of a jerk, but I digress.

I had a natural ability to talk about anything and everything and eventually I learned that it was quite an asset. Put me at a Girl Scout table in front of Publix and I could sellout a table of cookies in under 2 hours. The other girls would huddle behind the table weakly calling out "Cookies for sale...." Not me. I was like a character in Troop Beverly Hills, only without the costumes and dancing, as soon as my prey stepped onto the curb I was there with the "Excuse me sir, but wouldn't you like to support our troop? We just so badly want to go camping this year." I'd bat my big green eyes, flash those pearly whites, and work my freckled little face like the 8-year old con artist I was. It was then my parents learned that the used car salesman gene ran strong in this one. No one stood a chance. Before they knew it I was creating businesses in our front yard. Turns out a sucker IS born every minute and my neighborhood was full of them. Before long everyone in our neighbor owned their very own, original hand painted rock - naturally done in watercolors, as well as a jar of homemade cement (secret ingredient Elmer's glue), and boxes of used pens (where I got these boxes of pens is still a mystery to all involved). Once I started talking about opening my own dog grooming business (I was 10) my parents put the kibosh on my career in sales and stopped letting me go door to door selling my wears (get your minds out of the gutter- I was in grade school!).

As I got older, I realized that my snake oil charm wasn't just about my ability to talk to anyone, it was that I was approachable. Those wholesome Midwestern looks and Florida sunshine smile, made me seem trustworthy, friendly, and easy to talk to. When I moved to NYC, I started to notice that I was the first to be asked for direction in a crowd - little old ladies and tourists would hone in on me like a heat seeking missile and pull me aside to ask where the Olive Garden was located and which bus to take to get there. Pretty soon cabbies and bus drivers were sharing their life stories with me. My friends found this incredibly distressing and I would get lecture upon lecture, about "how you aren't supposed to talk to the bus drivers!" and "this is how people get kidnapped in cabs!" 

But the thing was, I wasn't talking to the strangers, the strangers were talking to me. It would start with an innocent smile and "How are you doing today? You stop at Delancey, right?" And then next thing I knew, they were insisting I sit up front and telling me about how Aunt Theresa was cheating on Uncle Derrick with his chemo doctor and the whole family didn't know what to do about it. Let me just tell you, Uncle Derrick deserved better than that hussy. See, not my fault. I was just being polite - I was raised in the South and have Midwestern roots - my people are not capable of not greeting someone warmly. (Unless it is Aunt Theresa, that woman only deserves a lukewarm "Hello.") 

I quickly learned that in NYC, it didn't take much to get people talking. These people would definitely lose at the "Who can be Quiet for the Longest" game. They wanted to be heard and I was just the person to hear them. My 4.5 years in NYC are full of the dramas and sagas of anyone I came in contact with, so full that this blog was originally going to be a collection of the stories that people told me. Now that I think about it, it is actually a bit surprising, with the number of people who approached and confided in me, that I never was approached to join a cult...or to start one... Either way, I had discovered that I even though I wasn't doing the talking I was still able to sell these people something - even if it was just a piece of mind that they were being heard.  

Which bring us to today. Since I have been in DC/VA, I have actually had a marked downturn in stranger stories. They still happen, but I can go for weeks without anyone responding with more than a "And a good afternoon to you. It sure is a hot one today." I think that being in the South means that everyone is surrounded by people who will listen and therefore they don't need to save up their stories for the nice girl on the bus, they can just chat with everyone as they go through their day. Checking out at the grocery store can take 45 minutes, because the checker and the bagger are ready with a full commentary on the high school football team's chances to make state this year (not good). Occasionally I miss the old days and wonder what happened to Aunt Theresa and Uncle Derrick, but mostly I love that I no longer get yelled at for talking to bus drivers - I am with my people now and we are all most likely to get kidnapped.

I'd be Great in a Cult

No seriously, I would. The thing is I love routine and I love rules - especially black and white ones. Put me into a cult - where everyday is mapped out, rules are clearly defined, and the steps to move up are mapped out - I would be in the core group of true believers within weeks and devotedly preaching the good word to indoctrinate new acolytes. Sadly, I have never been recruited to a cult - unless you count my co-worker handing me a Scientlolgy flyer as a joke - little did he know he was perilously close to setting me onto a road to be the next Mrs. Tom Cruise.

Why the talk of cults? Since the big move I have struggled, Dear Reader, with those beloved routines. I tried to ease into setting up those new routines - alarm schedules, workouts, chores, writing these posts, etc - in part because I wanted to give myself time to ease into the new place, and in hopes that some would come naturally. But they haven't, it's not that I am not functioning, but I can't seem to find a rhythm. And for someone who thrives on routines - it is driving me a bit bonkers. I know, intellectually, that it takes 6 weeks to form a habit, so if I want to get back into my routine of exercising 4 days a week, I need to force myself into those first 24 workouts. But, as I set-up a schedule I continually find myself begging off "just this one" after a rough day; I cant help but feel a little frustrated that everything isn't just seamlessly falling into place.... or that I am not in a cult where everything is already planned out for me and my Devoted Leader is forcing me into a cheerful 30 minutes of circuit training at the end of the day. 

So, instead of signing away my vast fortune and my first born, as well as the first borns of all my nearest and dearest, I am turning to you - my own devoted following - and using my promise to you to help get me back in my rhythm and hold me accountable. Similar to the 6 weeks to create a routine, writing down your goals makes you more likely to achieve them, as does having people hold you accountable (my dear and loyal readers - that would be you in this case). I am pulling out the big guns here, because at going on 2 months in, I need to get back into a routine or else I risk pulling out that Scientology brochure. 

With all that being said, here are my promises to you for the next 6 weeks:

• I will write a blog every week (and yes, for those of you who have been asking - I will consider writing something of more substance. No promises on a book.)
• I will do that stupid workout thing (Ugh, L., I think this means I am going to that crazy barre/kickboxing class we found.)
• I will not kill the herb garden I started
• I will not fall asleep on my couch during the week, instead I will go to bed like a real adult :)
• I will resist getting burgers, fries, and milkshakes at the amazing place on the corner (unless it is a special occasion - like finally getting this blog post up)
• I will update my resume, because you should always keep it up-to-date
• I will talk to a financial planner, because 401(k)s shouldn't be a mystery to me

I am just going to say that being Mrs. Tom Cruise seems a heck of a lot easier, but being an adult with free will is probably better in the long term. I guess we will see in 6 weeks. In the meantime, if anyone else is looking to better themselves and wants to join me in this quest - feel free to chime in and let me know what habit you are going to try and put in place; or just send some encouragement....I'm going to need it.