Eureka! I got it..

There are a 143 hours in a week. During the industrial revolution, a time in history where workers worked like coke addicted first year I-bankers, but without the coke and cushy office with the Italian leather chairs, workers began to organized and petitioned the powers that be for, "8 hours to work, 8 hours to sleep, and 8 hours for what we will."

I work anywhere between 45-55 (occasionally, more) in a given week. So maybe laborers really didnt win the war. I can honestly say that despite the crap and how I am overworked and underpaid, I am in love with my job. Most people have to dress up "professionally" for work, I dress like a women's college student. Baggy jeans, oversized sweatshirt, hair in a messy bun and we cannot forget my favorite Men's patagonia fleece that hangs in all the wrong places. Like an American Express card, I do not leave home without it. Keeping in mind the way I dress, the way I act at work is even worse. I sing, I dance, I tell people about my emotional instability due to PMS. I act like an overgrown child. And it is ok because I cannot go bfriend/husband shopping where I work. Not because I believe in professionalism and the old adage "you dont shit where you eat," becuase if I really wanted some office booty, I have no qualms. No, I cannot go man hunting where I work because EVERYONE is either married or attached. I am the only singleton in the office. Except for the Indian tech guy.

But he is the Indian tech guy.

So let's try to understand why I am single.
143-50 (hours that I work and dress like a women's college lesbian) = 93 hours left

93-10 hours (for my commute which I am still dressed like a women's college lesbian) = 83

As of now, we see that almost half of my week is taken up by me being dressed as a women's college lesbian. And I am not longer in college and am definately not a lesbian. *After all these years wondering it is decided. I would do a threesome for the right guy though* The rational thought would be, why don't you get dressed up? So you don't always look like a women's college lesbian. The simple truth is that, unless I have a reason, the sniff test of the clothes that I will wear to work is fine. And by the way, it is bullshit when people say that they get dressed for themselves. I do not wear 6 inch stilletos for myself. Myself is happy with a pair of loafers.

So we are at 83 hours left of the week.

83-4 hours a week at the gym (especially looking like a women's college lesbian)= 79 hours.

I sleep. Although I pretend not to, I really do. Let's say about 6 hours a night (x7) where I definately look like a women's college lesbian, especially with my non-gender Teddy bear.
79-42=37 hours

There is about 48 hours in a weekend. Let's concentrate on those for a sec. As we have estabished above, during the week I look like a women's college lesbian. There will be no man who is going to sit down and talk to me, invite me to dinner, and pledge his undying love and affection to me because, I look slightly shifty. Unless you count toothless bob, the resident homeless man who asks me out in the subway station, but that was a one time only occurance. So when I go out on the weekends (and occasionally during the week, I learned the hard way not to party until 5am the night before work b/c you will be at your desk still drunk), I like to look hott. Lotsa make-up, hair funky, cool clothes, and a drink in hand. Not necessarily to get ass but I like looking well dressed with cool clothes, especially after spending the week looking like a women's college lesbian. And the nights where I am especially hott, I sometimes luck out.

But with all things, there is a shelf life with your hotness. Mine is anything before the third drink. So I have from the minute I walk out the door to drink #3 to look hott and sexy and attract my future husband. So all in all a full hour and a half. Anything after drink 3, I begin to get slightly out of control (dancing on bars, kissing boys, etc.) Also, even if we could pretend that I act like a nun on the weekends, the motives of men at bars is "sketchy" at best.

So let me re-cap, I have a whopping 1.5 hours to find, bait, and reel in a potential bfriend/future ex-husband. I really don't do much during the weekends except for RECOVER from the crazy night before. I stay in bed all day Sat and Sun recovering from the "fun" night I had.

So in a weekend, I have about 3 hours of appeal IN A WEEKEND to a "nice boy" who got dragged out with his friends, just like me, b/c I am not a bar fly (yea right). Boy do we have so much in common! The rest of the week, I dress like a women's college sudent lesbian, have a nose in a book (how to raise a Jewish family--or something like that. Men, please don't get scared off, it is more like me doing an anthro piece), and the weekend I act like the whore of Babylon who is really just the biggest cock tease on the West side of NYC. Yea. I am going to be alone for the rest of my life.

And the CL dude? Spoke to him on the phone and he sounds lkinda quiet. But I think we are goign to get together when he comes back from his vacation. Why oh why do I ever allow myself to get slightly excited. I should just be happy that I have awsome friends, a very full social life (that I distract myself with), a job where I have fun, a nutty family who puts up with me.

And, I just learned that I am going to have to stay away from the petting zoo.