Boy Named Sue (Catch-Up Part 1)

September:  I finally went to the Field Museum.  I saw the new exhibit on bioluminescent creatures (male and female Angler fish?  Look it up if you don’t know what I mean), a reconstructed Egyptian tomb, and I finally met Sue.

I’ve seen Sue in books, magazines and movies my whole life.  (For anyone scratching their heads, Sue is the world’s biggest, oldest, most-complete, best-preserved skeleton of a T-Rex.)  I wasn’t disappointed.  However,  I did read that (well, duh) scientists really have no way of knowing if Sue was male or female; Sue was just the name of the paleontologist who found “her” 20+ years ago.

Also in September: My birthday, subsequent visiting family, and a 5-minute romance with a waiter from work, came and went.  I knew better than to A) get involved with a co-worker and B) fall for lines like “I want you to meet my mom” and “I’m going to take you to the Bahamas and teach you how to surf,” but apparently those were lessons I needed to re-learn.

Somewhere in there, I met and started dating an industrial designer who also works as an underwear model on the side.  (Insert “Pssh – really??” reaction here.  I did.)

October:  As if I needed further confirmation that I indeed am not a Special Gen-Y Snowflake, I was laid off from my hostess job at the restaurant (again,) but not because of the waiter.  The al fresco dining space closed, and because we weren’t needed, management cut the staff down by half.   I was welcome to come back in May for the busy season.  Apparently, my job had been seasonal, and management had conveniently forgotten to let me know.

I spent a week bemoaning my return to Square One until the stars miraculously aligned and I was finally offered a full-time desk job with benefits with an interior design manufacturer in a northern suburb.  And all God’s children (well, at least me and my parents) rejoiced loudly.

I threw a Halloween party that was largely under-attended, but a good opportunity to catch up with a few close friends.  My guests did include two girls and their male roommate who planned to dress as the Sanderson Sisters from “Hocus Pocus,” but got too drunk before the party to finish the costumes properly and just showed up in generic witch costumes with random makeup smeared on their faces.  Then the girls popped all the balloons with their high heels and tore down the streamers I’d strung across the ceiling.  And “Mr. Calvin Klein,” who had previously wanted to be my date, help make food and meet my friends, stood me up.  He later said he’d lost track of what weekend it was, had gone coat shopping with a friend at a suburban outlet mall, and had gotten lost on the way home after his GPS died. 

I would’ve almost preferred a story of debauchery and lost hours at a raucous night club or nudie bar with old friends – it was his birthday that week, after all.  The “Bros before Hos” rule, I can understand.  But “Peacoat before Ho” doesn’t quite have the same ring.

November.  “Calvin” repeated the same phrase to me that I said to someone else about a year ago:

“If you want to keep hanging out, great.  But I’m not interested in a relationship.”

First reaction was that this was not an unreasonable or entirely negative confession.  Then I realized that such an arrangement could easily relegate me to the Armcandy/”Movie-Night” Buddy category, followed by the realization that “He’s just not that into you.”  Damn that book.  Dammit for being right all the time. 

So while I’d escaped Square One in the employment field, I was right back on it in the dating sphere.  And after failing to hold the interest of both Waiter and Calvin in quick succession, I’m wondering if this is what I deserve for Friend-Zoning a couple guys in the recent past.

I think Sue was a dude.  Turns out, if you strip a T-Rex down to the bones, the body can’t support the weight of the head.  Sue’s actual skull is in a display case on the second floor of the Field, which was closed off for a private gala when I was there.  Over my head and out of my league, I guess.  The head on the body on display was fake, but I didn’t notice until I read the signs.

To Be Continued . . .