But I hate New Year's Eve.
I blame it on the movies. In the movies, NYE is a huge deal. It is the night of the big date. The big party. Something special happens. Someone gets found. Or lost. Kisses are had. It's an exciting night full of unexpected happenings.
Except it's not. It's a farce, a lie and almost always a bummer. For a lot of years, I spent the evening in Seattle with Mike and/or Shawn. This continued after I moved to NC for grad school because I'd always be home on NYE. January 1 is my mother's birthday and I never used to miss it. She has unhappy childhood memories associated with her birthday (hungover parents who did their celebrating the night before) and I used to make it a point to spend the day with her and do something special. A couple of years ago, she decided to get over it and let me off the hook. Now I spend NYE were it is convenient for me.
But, this was when I was 27, still in grad school, and still going back to Seattle every Winter and every Summer. And I expected to see Mike and Shawn on NYE. If one of them was out of town it would be the two of us--or the three of us after Shawn got married. This tradition began after the most disastrous NYE of my life. (See this for the briefest possible summary. I'll tell the whole story another time.) My goal was to be with friends and to expect nothing. But, after keeping our tradition for eight years, my two good friends made other plans--without telling me. I was stunned. I couldn't believe they would do it.
Mike and his wife were leaving Seattle before NYE. Shawn and his wife were going to a party with married friends and he decided, unilaterally, not invite me because I wouldn't enjoy it. They didn't let me know ahead of time. I found out at the dinner following Mike's wedding on the 27th. It was almost a physical blow. At first I didn't believe them. I was so hurt I didn't know what to say to them--but they knew I wasn't happy.
I gave it some thought and the next day I called Audrey. I've known Audrey as long as Mike, and consider her one of my best friends, but we never spent NYE together. I called her and told her my sad story. She was open to doing something with me and we made plans see a band Matt (her husband) really liked. (The band, Goodness, seems to no longer exist, but info on the lead singer is here.)
Going to see a band was the right way to spend the evening. It normalized things. I wore a cute little black dress and I was in a good mood. And then we met Owen. Owen was an acquaintance of Matt's and Audrey's. He was a friend of our friend Devon's little brother (they worked for Microsoft). Owen had big brown calf-eyes and a sweet smile. We hit it off right away. Owen was there on his own because he was very into the band (I didn't realize how much until later--I also didn't realize that I knew someone in the band).
We talked and talked. We smiled and smiled. He was sad when I told him I lived in NC. We separated from Matt and Audrey and listened to the band. We stood close together and, in the press of the crowd, he put his arms around me. It cozy and warm and comfortable. I couldn't stop smiling. Was this it? Was I finally going to have the New Year's Eve of my dreams? A woman next to us said, "I have to tell you, you are the cutest couple!" We just smiled and nodded. We gave each other a long look. There was some nervous laughter, but what could we do? I floated along on the fantasy. He asked me, "So when are you going back?" That was awkward.
"Um...the day after tomorrow."
"Oh. That's soon."
"I know."
We went back to listening to the music.
We shared a brief kiss at midnight. I was very happy and had a great, bittersweet time. There was more kissing later in the evening. And a request that I come to his place. I declined because of my mother and her January 1 birthday. I had to get back so she wouldn't worry and so she wouldn't be sad. He gave me a ride home.
When I got home, Mom was up with a couple of her friends. They were all drunk. I felt like an idiot. I should have gone to Owen's and gotten in more kissing. Mom's friend's said, "Why are you back so early? Did a boy drop you off?"
"Um, yes. Well, I need to go to sleep sometime."
Mom said, "You could have stayed out later. It would have been fine."
Oh really, Mom? That would have been the first time in my life if that were true. I got in a little sleep while they kept dancing.
I met Owen the next day for a late lunch. We stayed in touch via phone and email when I got back to Chapel Hill. When I was home in the summer, I saw him again. I planned another visit to Seattle October and I saw Owen several times. My mom was not pleased when I spent the night at his house. Actually, we had one of the worst fights of our lives during that visit (it was an 'extra' visit and did not cut into my usual Winter/Summer trips). I'm sure our fight was because I was spending so much time with Owen, but she wouldn't admit it.
On the October visit, Owen took me to see Goodness again and this time I recognized an old friend of mine as the guitarist. I didn't talk to him, but his best friend was standing just a few feet away from us in the audience. When he spotted me, he ran over and gave me a big hug, "Jamy--I haven't seen you in forever!"
"That's because I don't live here."
"Oh. Really? Where do you live?"
"I'm in Chapel Hill. North Carolina--for grad school."
After that visit, Owen and I stayed in touch, but not as steadily. Yet, I somehow had a hope that we would have another good NYE together. Eventually, reluctantly, he invited me to a party. I could tell it would not be a romantic evening. I saw Shawn and his wife that night and borrowed their car (they lived a few blocks from Mom) so I could pick up Owen and drive him to the party. I did not have fun at the party. Devon's little brother was there and his face lit up when he saw me. He was just drunk enough to tell me he had a crush on me when we were teenagers. When I told Audrey later she was not surprised. "Of course he liked you; you were the cool one."
"I had no idea. We didn't even know him."
"He knew us."
That was the bright spot of the evening. My friend's little brother telling me he'd had a crush on me when I was 14 and he was 12. I didn't even get a kiss at midnight. Nor did I get drunk; I was driving, after all. It's tiresome being so responsible. Still, I've had worse times. And it didn't take too much away from the fantasy night a year earlier.
This NYE, I'm going to drink a little, see my friends and not expect anything. Or try not to.
Happy happy everyone! See you in 2006.
Grateful for: one great night.
Showing newest 20 of 24 posts from 12/2005. Show older posts
Showing newest 20 of 24 posts from 12/2005. Show older posts
Saturday, December 31, 2005
Thursday, December 29, 2005
A year in dates
In honor of the first anniversary of "Grateful Dating," I present my year in dates.
Every guy I've been on a date with in the last twelve months is listed, along with a couple of crushes. Men with whom I only communicated via email/IM/phone are not included. (Two important figures are excluded because I never met them in person: Pie Guy and the Philosopher. It amuses me to no end that these two completely overlapped.) If I missed anyone, let me know in the comments so I can add him.
From the top!
Let's pop that champagne already!
Grateful for: the internet, the blog and readers.
Every guy I've been on a date with in the last twelve months is listed, along with a couple of crushes. Men with whom I only communicated via email/IM/phone are not included. (Two important figures are excluded because I never met them in person: Pie Guy and the Philosopher. It amuses me to no end that these two completely overlapped.) If I missed anyone, let me know in the comments so I can add him.
From the top!
- Musical Guy. The first entry about a date. If not for this entry, I think I would have completely forgotten this innocuous misfit.
- Yenta Man. Pele (before she was Pele) gave this fellow his nickname. I probably would have remembered him because we had some chemistry, despite the fact that we hated each other. Can you believe I turned down the chance to have a New Year's Eve date with him?
- Archie. He was a sweetheart, though on the young side. Not meant to be. Sigh.
- Mr. Friendly. Horrifying in a non-threatening way. He came to my reading group once and awkwardness abounded.
- Ethan. A good guy, a decent date, but only a tenuous connection. There was a second date and some phone calls and then it faded out. He popped up one more time much, much later but I never saw him again.
- Then I met Jake, who became my first (and only) internet boyfriend. What was I thinking? The Jake story:
- Watch me worry.
- At least one good date.
- Things are good.
- He makes it hard to sleep.
- It seemed like everything was fine.
- Guess I was wrong.
- Postponing the inevitable.
- The end.
- Mr. Bad Boy. This one is hilarious! Oh, fool that I am, thinking I could meet with someone for casual anything. Not that I don't do that, but it has to be unplanned.
- Med Student. We met, we flirted, I gave him my number. I never saw him again. (Not really a date.)
- How could I forget this guy? But I did. He was depressing.
- This crazy guy. Our humorous date. Good lord, I sure can pick 'em.
- Modern Orthodox. So boring, there's hardly anything to say.
- Environmental Lawyer. I had some hopes for this guy, but they were close to dead after our first meeting and completely extinguished after the second date (see below).
- The dread Dr. G. Shudder-worthy. How could one seemingly normal person be so darn creepy? He popped up again, but I was not interested.
- Mark. Aww, this one is sad. Look how clever I was on the phone. Our first date went really well. I liked him and he ditched me.
- Jewish Republican. So bad as to be almost unbelievable. Humiliation as a seduction technique is not recommended.
- My future husband (aka softball guy). I had a crush on him, but we never had a date. He flirted with me like crazy, but I found out he had a girlfriend when I invited him to a baseball game. He tried to set me up with his friend (nice thought; I declined).
- A wedding dance. Not a date or a crush, but the man spent the entire night staring at me, talking to me or dancing with me. That's something.
- Fred. Oh yikes. Don't like remembering this one! He rated several entries, yet was so not worth my time.
- Jay. I seem to have lost my mind again. The crush to end all crushes. This saga lasted for several months.
- Damian. My date to a baseball game. We had a good time. The beginning of a friendship.
- Jim. No, I did not go on a date with an imaginary boyfriend. I went to see a show at Iota with this guy.
- Nathan. A date mostly memorable for my poor behavior and his not-so-subtle attempt at a "friends-with-benefits" deal (see below).
- Frank. Sweet guy. Nice date. He never returned the call I made after our first date.
- Philly Prof. The horror. Drunk IMing--who knew?
- Scott. An argumentative lawyer? Who would have guessed? At least he had the courtesy to apologize for his faux paux.
- Tim. I think it's fair to say he was my boyfriend. Another freakin' saga. Most of the story:
- Our second date.
- We keep going.
- This one is funny.
- I'm confused.
- High expectations.
- We've got trouble.
- Waiting (don't miss the fight I stirred up in the comments--unbelievable).
- I defend myself to the readers.
- I tell Tim about the blog.
- The pause.
- The breakup.
- Breakup aftermath.
- Just when you thought it was over.
- I assume this is the end, but who knows?
- Bob. A good date and a new friend.
Let's pop that champagne already!
Grateful for: the internet, the blog and readers.
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
Fear and loathing
Before I begin, two things:
I've been kicking around this idea for a few days. It occurred to me that there are two major reasons why many seemingly desirable people are single: 1) self-loathing and 2) fear.
Self-loathing is more common than you would think. It's also the kiss of death for relationships. I dated a guy once (last Chapel Hill boyfriend) who hated himself. He ate himself into obesity (seriously) and ridiculed himself constantly. He was a very funny guy until I detected the note of self-hatred in his humor. He also erupted in angry shouting at me several times. I never understood the source of his self-hatred, but it was there, it was strong and when I saw it clearly, I had to leave. (It was mutual.)
Self-loathing keeps some people off the market entirely. They are not confident, they don't think they deserve any happiness and then they direct their anger back at the world. The angry people you are meeting? Actually, they hate themselves.
I know that I am not filled with self-loathing. Nothing could be further from the truth. So, lets go to point number two: fear.
What is this fear of which I speak? Why, it's fear of commitment, of course. But that could mean anything. I am often accused of pursuing unavailable men (looking at the dating history detailed on this blog, it's hard to argue with that assertion). It may be true, but why? Why do I like unavailable men? Why am I afraid of commitment? Because I don't actually want to be in a relationship. What?? Really?
Well, no, not really. There was a time when I did not want to be in "big deal" relationship (when I was in college). There was a time when I was willing to settle for a far from ideal relationship (in grad school). Now I'm afraid that I'm stuck in my fear rut and it is keeping me from either being available to the right men or finding the right men interesting.
I'm not afraid of relationships (anymore), but I haven't figured out how to get the message to my brain and translate it into actions.
And why would I be afraid? Is it because of my childhood? Probably. Specifically, I fear losing myself in an unhappy relationship, making the choice to be in a relationship for the wrong reasons (fear of being alone is the flipside of a fear of commitment), and having to make the compromises involved in cohabiting. These days, these are more worries than fears. But still...what does my behavior tell you?
Grateful for: starting to conquer my fears.
- Tomorrow (12/29/05) is my one-year blog anniversary. I have a super long special dating post ready so don't miss it!
- Send your questions in so we can have Dear Jamy next Tuesday. Just click; it's that easy.
I've been kicking around this idea for a few days. It occurred to me that there are two major reasons why many seemingly desirable people are single: 1) self-loathing and 2) fear.
Self-loathing is more common than you would think. It's also the kiss of death for relationships. I dated a guy once (last Chapel Hill boyfriend) who hated himself. He ate himself into obesity (seriously) and ridiculed himself constantly. He was a very funny guy until I detected the note of self-hatred in his humor. He also erupted in angry shouting at me several times. I never understood the source of his self-hatred, but it was there, it was strong and when I saw it clearly, I had to leave. (It was mutual.)
Self-loathing keeps some people off the market entirely. They are not confident, they don't think they deserve any happiness and then they direct their anger back at the world. The angry people you are meeting? Actually, they hate themselves.
I know that I am not filled with self-loathing. Nothing could be further from the truth. So, lets go to point number two: fear.
What is this fear of which I speak? Why, it's fear of commitment, of course. But that could mean anything. I am often accused of pursuing unavailable men (looking at the dating history detailed on this blog, it's hard to argue with that assertion). It may be true, but why? Why do I like unavailable men? Why am I afraid of commitment? Because I don't actually want to be in a relationship. What?? Really?
Well, no, not really. There was a time when I did not want to be in "big deal" relationship (when I was in college). There was a time when I was willing to settle for a far from ideal relationship (in grad school). Now I'm afraid that I'm stuck in my fear rut and it is keeping me from either being available to the right men or finding the right men interesting.
I'm not afraid of relationships (anymore), but I haven't figured out how to get the message to my brain and translate it into actions.
And why would I be afraid? Is it because of my childhood? Probably. Specifically, I fear losing myself in an unhappy relationship, making the choice to be in a relationship for the wrong reasons (fear of being alone is the flipside of a fear of commitment), and having to make the compromises involved in cohabiting. These days, these are more worries than fears. But still...what does my behavior tell you?
Grateful for: starting to conquer my fears.
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
Kisses
How much do I love that someone from Haliburton spent the day reading the Dating Guidelines? So funny. So wrong. So right (wing)? (Sorry, I know that not everyone working for a soulless corporate giant is a soulless corporate cog. And how happy am I that you are doing something as public service oriented as reading my blog? I love you for that! From one cog to another, welcome.)
Another from the best-search-ever files: "my new boyfriend is too boring for me zen." If he's so damn boring, break up with him already. And what does "zen" have to do with it?
If you check the guestbook (no one does, it's fine), you'll see that Calvin Dane left me another note.
To the real Calvin Dane: I never thought you were an asshole. From your previous comment, I could not tell if you enjoyed the joke or were offended, which is why I apologized. I am delighted that you find humor in this situation and I hope you keep reading (even if "Calvin Dane" is not a featured player).
Oddly enough, I saw my "Calvin Dane" this morning. I was in a hurry and didn't have time to talk, so Calvin just gazed at me wistfully. A couple of days ago I bumped into him and he gave me a hug. Ah, Calvin Dane, the master of the mixed signal.
Way back when I wrote Pure Dating I had a plan to ask Calvin to set me up with his single friends. For the sake of the blog, it may be time to do just that. I fear we are embarking on one of those long periods of quiet contentment that coincide with the absence of romance. Just in time for the New Year! I like it.
Grateful for: quiet contentment.
PS No one sent me a "Dear Jamy" question this week. I'm sad. Just click here with your question.
Another from the best-search-ever files: "my new boyfriend is too boring for me zen." If he's so damn boring, break up with him already. And what does "zen" have to do with it?
If you check the guestbook (no one does, it's fine), you'll see that Calvin Dane left me another note.
To the real Calvin Dane: I never thought you were an asshole. From your previous comment, I could not tell if you enjoyed the joke or were offended, which is why I apologized. I am delighted that you find humor in this situation and I hope you keep reading (even if "Calvin Dane" is not a featured player).
Oddly enough, I saw my "Calvin Dane" this morning. I was in a hurry and didn't have time to talk, so Calvin just gazed at me wistfully. A couple of days ago I bumped into him and he gave me a hug. Ah, Calvin Dane, the master of the mixed signal.
Way back when I wrote Pure Dating I had a plan to ask Calvin to set me up with his single friends. For the sake of the blog, it may be time to do just that. I fear we are embarking on one of those long periods of quiet contentment that coincide with the absence of romance. Just in time for the New Year! I like it.
Grateful for: quiet contentment.
PS No one sent me a "Dear Jamy" question this week. I'm sad. Just click here with your question.
Monday, December 26, 2005
Yours, Mine and Lunch
Friday
I went to see "Yours, Mine and Ours" with work friend, Nancy. (Remember the contest?) It turns out that Nancy has the same love of blended family type of films (and the same complete lack of interest in Cheaper by the Dozen, despite the presence of Steve Martin) as I do. Don't know what her excuse is, she comes from an intact family. They let us off work at noon and we went straight to Union Station. We got there in time to pick up lunch to eat in the movie. Nancy surprised me by buying my ticket ("Happy Holidays!"). As we walked to our theater, we were a little concerned by the mobs of small children surrounding us. We had nothing to be worried about--they were all there to see Narnia or Harry Potter. We had the theater completely to ourselves and chatted and heckled loudly through the entire film. I had very, very low expectations and was completely satisfied by the experience. A pig played a supporting role in the film causing me to say more than once, "Everything is funnier with a pig."
After the movie, I came home and baked cookies. Yes, more cookies. This time, not chocolate chip, but a variation on the wafer thin butter cinnamon cookies my mom used to make. Instead of cinnamon, I used cardamom. I love the flavor of cardamom and I made this variation of the recipe because I was bringing them as a gift to an Indian pre-wedding party called a Sangeet (it was combined with a wedding shower). (Aside: can you believe I have never been to a wedding shower before?) I roped Spesh into going with me, and he met me at my house and we drove from there to Vienna, VA.
On the drive there, we discussed the issue of privacy and the blog. I told him I didn't mind not being anonymous, but I had to be careful about what I wrote so as not to offend people. "Anyway, today I didn't get to write at all, I've been so on the run."
"The trick is having a life interesting enough to write about...but not so interesting that you don't have time to write about it."
"So true! Then again, I can write about almost anything, so I just need to keep things boring."
The party was fun, but a little awkward. I was invited by the father-of-the-bride and I've never met the bride. Everyone was extremely friendly. Most of the women were in traditional dress-- sarees, lenghas, and salwars. Most of the men were in suits--basic western-style men's wear. Most of the women were downstairs participating in the Mehendi ritual. (I declined.) After the bride started opening presents, I moved myself back upstairs to check on Spesh. I also got to eat some of the tasty Indian buffet.
We left before the dancing started. The cookies were not set out. Our host offered us food to take home and we declined, but on the way out the door, he thrust a plant into our hands. It was a decorative poinsettia. It was impossible to refuse, so we didn't. Did I miss an important cultural cue? Oh well.
I was wiped out--why? I don't know. Spesh spent the night on the couch. I went to sleep early.
Saturday
We met friends for lunch and a screening of the new Bob Dylan documentary, No Direction Home, on dvd. We went to TR's house because he just got a new fancy tv and one friend is allergic to cats. TR is out of town and lent me his keys (car and house!). It was a great film, but a bit of a marathon (over three hours long).
You might think I'd had enough of the movies, but you would be wrong. After I dropped Spesh off, I met a friend to catch a movie.
Monday
I finally managed to pin down the little sister (not my actual sister). I gave her the choice of bowling or movies and she chose movies. A girl after my own heart. We saw Narnia and she quite liked it. I loved the books as a kid, but I didn't remember the details of the story. The movie was fine. I find that I'm able to relax my standards quite a bit for the little sister and enjoy almost any movie we see together. (Miss Congeniality 2 might be an exception.) After the movie, we had Chinese food and fooled around with my digital camera. She made a movie of me and we watched it at the table. It's ridiculously fascinating watching a movie of yourself, even if it is quite possibly the most boring movie in the world. She was shy about letting me photograph her.
I wasn't as good at hiding.
On the way home, I stopped at the grocery store. The day after Christmas is an excellent time to shop. No crowds, short lines and only slightly unhappy cashiers (the woman on my aisle was very friendly, but she didn't look happy about having to work). The million bags I brought home provided a temporary playground for the cat. Did you know that cats love bags?
Grateful for: movies, friends and bags.
I went to see "Yours, Mine and Ours" with work friend, Nancy. (Remember the contest?) It turns out that Nancy has the same love of blended family type of films (and the same complete lack of interest in Cheaper by the Dozen, despite the presence of Steve Martin) as I do. Don't know what her excuse is, she comes from an intact family. They let us off work at noon and we went straight to Union Station. We got there in time to pick up lunch to eat in the movie. Nancy surprised me by buying my ticket ("Happy Holidays!"). As we walked to our theater, we were a little concerned by the mobs of small children surrounding us. We had nothing to be worried about--they were all there to see Narnia or Harry Potter. We had the theater completely to ourselves and chatted and heckled loudly through the entire film. I had very, very low expectations and was completely satisfied by the experience. A pig played a supporting role in the film causing me to say more than once, "Everything is funnier with a pig."
After the movie, I came home and baked cookies. Yes, more cookies. This time, not chocolate chip, but a variation on the wafer thin butter cinnamon cookies my mom used to make. Instead of cinnamon, I used cardamom. I love the flavor of cardamom and I made this variation of the recipe because I was bringing them as a gift to an Indian pre-wedding party called a Sangeet (it was combined with a wedding shower). (Aside: can you believe I have never been to a wedding shower before?) I roped Spesh into going with me, and he met me at my house and we drove from there to Vienna, VA.
On the drive there, we discussed the issue of privacy and the blog. I told him I didn't mind not being anonymous, but I had to be careful about what I wrote so as not to offend people. "Anyway, today I didn't get to write at all, I've been so on the run."
"The trick is having a life interesting enough to write about...but not so interesting that you don't have time to write about it."
"So true! Then again, I can write about almost anything, so I just need to keep things boring."
The party was fun, but a little awkward. I was invited by the father-of-the-bride and I've never met the bride. Everyone was extremely friendly. Most of the women were in traditional dress-- sarees, lenghas, and salwars. Most of the men were in suits--basic western-style men's wear. Most of the women were downstairs participating in the Mehendi ritual. (I declined.) After the bride started opening presents, I moved myself back upstairs to check on Spesh. I also got to eat some of the tasty Indian buffet.
We left before the dancing started. The cookies were not set out. Our host offered us food to take home and we declined, but on the way out the door, he thrust a plant into our hands. It was a decorative poinsettia. It was impossible to refuse, so we didn't. Did I miss an important cultural cue? Oh well.
I was wiped out--why? I don't know. Spesh spent the night on the couch. I went to sleep early.
Saturday
We met friends for lunch and a screening of the new Bob Dylan documentary, No Direction Home, on dvd. We went to TR's house because he just got a new fancy tv and one friend is allergic to cats. TR is out of town and lent me his keys (car and house!). It was a great film, but a bit of a marathon (over three hours long).
You might think I'd had enough of the movies, but you would be wrong. After I dropped Spesh off, I met a friend to catch a movie.
Monday
I finally managed to pin down the little sister (not my actual sister). I gave her the choice of bowling or movies and she chose movies. A girl after my own heart. We saw Narnia and she quite liked it. I loved the books as a kid, but I didn't remember the details of the story. The movie was fine. I find that I'm able to relax my standards quite a bit for the little sister and enjoy almost any movie we see together. (Miss Congeniality 2 might be an exception.) After the movie, we had Chinese food and fooled around with my digital camera. She made a movie of me and we watched it at the table. It's ridiculously fascinating watching a movie of yourself, even if it is quite possibly the most boring movie in the world. She was shy about letting me photograph her.
I wasn't as good at hiding.
On the way home, I stopped at the grocery store. The day after Christmas is an excellent time to shop. No crowds, short lines and only slightly unhappy cashiers (the woman on my aisle was very friendly, but she didn't look happy about having to work). The million bags I brought home provided a temporary playground for the cat. Did you know that cats love bags?
Grateful for: movies, friends and bags.
Sunday, December 25, 2005
Merry Happy
I prefer not to go to anyone's house for Christmas. Over the years, my mother and I have been invited to spend Christmas with friends of hers. We used to say yes. But then we would find ourselves plop down in the middle of serious psycho-drama. Or I would be the subject of an attempted fix-up with a ne'er-do-well son. Oh my. Very uncomfortable. We found, it's better to excuse ourselves and skip the present unwrapping (awkward if you aren't getting anything), face-stuffing, and family fighting.
Today, I'm spending the day completely on my own. After the two days of non-stop action, a Sunday on my own is a pleasure indeed. The only problem is that EVERYTHING is closed.
(Friday and Saturday were very busy. There are a couple of good stories. I may back post to catch you up.)
Well, that's not true. You have to know where to look. The Eden Center was a likely spot. Every single shop was open and the place was crazy crowed like it always is on the weekends.
You know what you see when you go out on Christmas day? Very few white people. Very few black people. Many Vietnamese people at the Eden Center. And (later) at the Mall, Hispanic people.
I saw two white guys and one black teenage boy at the Eden Center. I picked up the decadent (and, according to Mom, healthy) avocado milkshake. It is just about the best thing I've ever tasted. I also got a bunch of prepackaged mystery foods.
Some items were not so mysterious, but one that looked like plain old sweet sticky rice, turned out to be sticky rice wrapped around a banana with some coconut cream on the side.
A bun with mysterious insides.
The ingredients were listed for these sticky pork buns, so they shouldn't have been mysterious.
When I took a bite, the interior was completely unexpected.
A banana leaf wrapped around something mysterious.
Shrimp garden rolls; completely unmysterious, but very tasty.
Of course, the avocado drink (without bubbles) is so filling that I could only sample most of the items and the rest will be save for dinner, breakfast and lunch. Feast time.
After the Eden Center, it is time for the movies at the mall. The mall is totally closed, but the heat is on. The wraps place in the food court is open and Panera Bread left their wi-fi on, even though the shop is closed.
This particular movie theater used to have quite a few video games. Teenage boys everywhere cried bitter tears when they saw this.
The movie theater is surprisingly not empty. I swear, these other white people are not Jews. Just jealous? Sick of each other? Dying to get out of the house? Guess I can't blame them.
Grateful for: lazy days and the Eden Center.
Today, I'm spending the day completely on my own. After the two days of non-stop action, a Sunday on my own is a pleasure indeed. The only problem is that EVERYTHING is closed.
(Friday and Saturday were very busy. There are a couple of good stories. I may back post to catch you up.)
Well, that's not true. You have to know where to look. The Eden Center was a likely spot. Every single shop was open and the place was crazy crowed like it always is on the weekends.
You know what you see when you go out on Christmas day? Very few white people. Very few black people. Many Vietnamese people at the Eden Center. And (later) at the Mall, Hispanic people.
I saw two white guys and one black teenage boy at the Eden Center. I picked up the decadent (and, according to Mom, healthy) avocado milkshake. It is just about the best thing I've ever tasted. I also got a bunch of prepackaged mystery foods.
Some items were not so mysterious, but one that looked like plain old sweet sticky rice, turned out to be sticky rice wrapped around a banana with some coconut cream on the side.
A bun with mysterious insides.
The ingredients were listed for these sticky pork buns, so they shouldn't have been mysterious.
When I took a bite, the interior was completely unexpected.
A banana leaf wrapped around something mysterious.
Shrimp garden rolls; completely unmysterious, but very tasty.
Of course, the avocado drink (without bubbles) is so filling that I could only sample most of the items and the rest will be save for dinner, breakfast and lunch. Feast time.
After the Eden Center, it is time for the movies at the mall. The mall is totally closed, but the heat is on. The wraps place in the food court is open and Panera Bread left their wi-fi on, even though the shop is closed.
This particular movie theater used to have quite a few video games. Teenage boys everywhere cried bitter tears when they saw this.
The movie theater is surprisingly not empty. I swear, these other white people are not Jews. Just jealous? Sick of each other? Dying to get out of the house? Guess I can't blame them.
Grateful for: lazy days and the Eden Center.
Thursday, December 22, 2005
Happy bloggers
Time to get to work on my write up of the monthly meet up with happy bloggers.
It was one of the friendliest, most convivial groups of almost strangers I've ever been around. So relaxed, so without an agenda. People were also encouraging and complimentary. I love that stuff. It embarrasses me like crazy, but I also love it. I love it because I need some confirmation, in flesh and blood, that I should keep blogging.
Never fear, I'm not lost on the blogging road, not at all. I've said many times how much I love it and how great it has been for me. But as I approach the one year mark, I wonder, what next? Will the blog grow or change or take a backseat to some other writing endeavor? And what would that endeavor be? This year, I decided I was a non-fiction writer, but recently someone said I should write a novel. He said, "All you need to do is write 500 words a day." My response, "I write at least that much every day." What I don't know is what the plot would be--the through-line--the story. The core. Of course, that should be obvious. It would be about dating.
The trick to this writing thing, I've learned, is letting go. Easing up the pressure and not thinking too much.
For example, when I wrote short stories, I used to agonize over the titles. I would wait until I finished the story and then come up with something. I never liked most of my titles--they were not linked closely enough to the stories. But with the blog, I come up with a title every day. Once or twice I have agonized. Once or twice in over 300 posts. Something that seemed to be a big issue in the past turned out to be a non-issue. Something that I thought I was bad at turned out to be something I was good at. I love my blog titles.
When it comes to writing the posts, it's the same thing. I stopped writing short stories because I ran out of ideas. That's not exactly true. I had lots of ideas, but few finished stories. I had lots of false starts; beginnings without endings. I used to say that I wanted to be a writer, but I wasn't prolific enough and it doesn't pay. The latter is still true. The former--it seems like kind of a joke now. Not prolific enough? Not at all! Not focused enough might be more like it. Some days I start with no idea at all. Or too many ideas. And yet, by the end of (almost) every day, there is a post.
The major impediments to my writing: quantity and ideas, were only impediments in my mind. I created those impediments and now they are gone.
What happens now? That is my question.
You know, this is not where I meant to go today. I was going to do a little blogger meetup recap. Really, I need to give a big THANK YOU to all my fellow bloggers who are readers. Thank you for reading. Thank you for telling me you like what I write. Thank you for encouraging me. It helps more than you know.
And thank you to all the non-blogging readers. All my friends, lurkers and most especially regular commenters. Without you I wouldn't enjoy writing nearly as much and I probably would have stopped long ago without the pressure of your expectations. I need those expectations, so please keep them high.
On to recap. These are the fellow-attendees who met me first through the blog:
Velvet (Now a real life friend.)
Shannon (A bundle of energy.)
Reya (Calm, friendly and my future massage therapist (I hope).)
Michael (Big hug!)
Rob (Thanks for keeping the group alive.)
Pat (Thanks for not publishing my picture and for being an all-around great guy.)
Nicolas (Great to meet you, love the tech talk.)
Tony (He has plenty to say.)
Eddie (In town from SF! Let me play with his toys (video iPod, my precious). Can you believe work blocked me from his site--how rude is that?)
Martin (The giver of roses.)
Keith (At least I said goodbye!)
My apologies to those of you I missed or did not meet. Next time! There always is a next time.
Grateful for: next time.
It was one of the friendliest, most convivial groups of almost strangers I've ever been around. So relaxed, so without an agenda. People were also encouraging and complimentary. I love that stuff. It embarrasses me like crazy, but I also love it. I love it because I need some confirmation, in flesh and blood, that I should keep blogging.
Never fear, I'm not lost on the blogging road, not at all. I've said many times how much I love it and how great it has been for me. But as I approach the one year mark, I wonder, what next? Will the blog grow or change or take a backseat to some other writing endeavor? And what would that endeavor be? This year, I decided I was a non-fiction writer, but recently someone said I should write a novel. He said, "All you need to do is write 500 words a day." My response, "I write at least that much every day." What I don't know is what the plot would be--the through-line--the story. The core. Of course, that should be obvious. It would be about dating.
The trick to this writing thing, I've learned, is letting go. Easing up the pressure and not thinking too much.
For example, when I wrote short stories, I used to agonize over the titles. I would wait until I finished the story and then come up with something. I never liked most of my titles--they were not linked closely enough to the stories. But with the blog, I come up with a title every day. Once or twice I have agonized. Once or twice in over 300 posts. Something that seemed to be a big issue in the past turned out to be a non-issue. Something that I thought I was bad at turned out to be something I was good at. I love my blog titles.
When it comes to writing the posts, it's the same thing. I stopped writing short stories because I ran out of ideas. That's not exactly true. I had lots of ideas, but few finished stories. I had lots of false starts; beginnings without endings. I used to say that I wanted to be a writer, but I wasn't prolific enough and it doesn't pay. The latter is still true. The former--it seems like kind of a joke now. Not prolific enough? Not at all! Not focused enough might be more like it. Some days I start with no idea at all. Or too many ideas. And yet, by the end of (almost) every day, there is a post.
The major impediments to my writing: quantity and ideas, were only impediments in my mind. I created those impediments and now they are gone.
What happens now? That is my question.
You know, this is not where I meant to go today. I was going to do a little blogger meetup recap. Really, I need to give a big THANK YOU to all my fellow bloggers who are readers. Thank you for reading. Thank you for telling me you like what I write. Thank you for encouraging me. It helps more than you know.
And thank you to all the non-blogging readers. All my friends, lurkers and most especially regular commenters. Without you I wouldn't enjoy writing nearly as much and I probably would have stopped long ago without the pressure of your expectations. I need those expectations, so please keep them high.
On to recap. These are the fellow-attendees who met me first through the blog:
Velvet (Now a real life friend.)
Velvet: You just gave away that Jamy isn't your real name! Jamy: I don't care if they know. I'm just not telling them what my real name is. And you better not either.Alwayswrite (Quiet, sure, but always thinking.)
AW: When I read your blog, I'm always thinking about who I can set you up with…Barbara (Great writer and great perspective.)
Jamy: Really? You should set me up. I'm totally open to that.
AW: I have this one friend you might like.
Jamy: You can't tell him about the blog.
Shannon (A bundle of energy.)
Reya (Calm, friendly and my future massage therapist (I hope).)
Reya: Isn't it remarkable that we all care about typos?And here is everyone else:
Jamy: But of course we care. We're all writers.
Michael (Big hug!)
Rob (Thanks for keeping the group alive.)
Pat (Thanks for not publishing my picture and for being an all-around great guy.)
Nicolas (Great to meet you, love the tech talk.)
Tony (He has plenty to say.)
Eddie (In town from SF! Let me play with his toys (video iPod, my precious). Can you believe work blocked me from his site--how rude is that?)
Velvet: How did you get the domain name "eddie.com"?Merujo (Sorry I missed the funny stories this time.)
Eddie: It was free and I registered it.
Velvet: No way! When did you get it?
Eddie: 1996. (We all laugh.)
Velvet: I don't even think I knew what the internet was in 1996!
Martin (The giver of roses.)
Keith (At least I said goodbye!)
My apologies to those of you I missed or did not meet. Next time! There always is a next time.
Grateful for: next time.
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
Cat food
Today, I left the house at 8:15am to hoof it to the drug store to get kitty litter and an emergency supply of cat food. I dropped off the goods at home and went to my second, last and completely unnecessary physical therapy appointment. Got to work by 10:30am.
Why is it that I had no problem getting out of the house in 20 minutes flat (brushed, combed and washed) when it had to do with the cat, but it's a goddamn miracle if I can make it to the office by 9:35?
Do I hate my job that much?
On the way home from work last night, I stopped by my favorite Chinese place to pick up a couple of roast pork buns. When I walked in, a large, middle-aged Black woman was leaning against the display case with a copy of the yellow pages open before her. She said, "Can you read this?" She pointed to a line in the yellow pages. "Can you read the number for Wisconsin Avenue?"
I looked and saw a listing for a pawnbroker with two addresses, one on Wisconsin. "This one?" I read the number out loud.
"That's it. Thank you baby." She gestured to the man behind the counter. "He can't read anything."
I thought, 'But neither can you.'
As she gathered her bags, she said "He can't do nothing. Couldn't read a number. I'm glad I don't live in Communist China!" Then she left.
Let me get this straight, you go into a restaurant with no intention of buying anything, ask to see the phone book and then get angry when the staff cannot read a phone number to you? When I stepped into the situation, I couldn't tell exactly what was going on. I just smiled a lot, said little, and figured if I could give the crazy lady what she wanted, she would leave.
As soon as she left, the guy behind the counter (the same guy who is always there) said, "How can I help you?" He smiled a big, warm smile. It was the friendliest service I've ever received there, and if you live in DC, you know how valuable that is.
When I got home last night, I found a holiday card waiting for me. I don't receive many holiday cards because I don't send any (a Jewish privilege). I try and answer every card I get, though, which may account for why I stay on two or three lists.
This card, however, was totally unexpected. It was from an acquaintance who I met looking for salsa dancing companions a few years ago. We tried many times to make plans but we only succeeded twice. Her excuse was always "house hunting." She did finally buy a house, long after I'd given up on her, and she sent me a handwritten invitation to the housewarming party. I was astonished by the inclusion in the invitation of two business-like cards listing the places where she was registered. Registered? For a housewarming? I thought it was pretty nervy. But I figured, what the hey, it was a housewarming, I'd probably bring something anyway, so why not pick something from her registry? There was not a single item on the registry for less than $50. For someone I'd met twice? That seemed most unreasonable. The registry had things like china and flatware and appliances.
I felt arm-twisted into getting her something, but I showed up with candles, chocolates and bath soaps. I spent maybe $25. She had quite a spread at that housewarming. Tons of food--shrimp, wine, fancy stuff. And a room upstairs where she showed me all the big gifts. She said how much she liked my present, but I felt very uncomfortable. That was the last time I saw her and it was over a year ago.
The non-holiday specific card contained this message, "Jamy--Let's find an opportunity to get together soon. Call me (202) 555-5555. Sally"
My first reaction? Nervy! "Call me?" Really? Sweetheart, I am in the phone book. I have not changed my number, my email or my mailing address. If you actually wanted to see me, why haven't you done something about it? I have invited you to the last several parties I had and where were you? Nowhere. The time you said you would come, you were a no-show.
Call you? I think not.
Check out I'm not a girl, not yet a wino today. Kris has done a lovely public service by asking bloggers everywhere to submit their "Best of 2005" and linking us all up. I have two pieces in the "Romance/Relationships" category (natch). There is a wonderful variety of blogs represented, so take a look and maybe you'll find something new to entertain and delight you. Thanks Kris--it's much appreciated.
Grateful for: odds and ends.
Why is it that I had no problem getting out of the house in 20 minutes flat (brushed, combed and washed) when it had to do with the cat, but it's a goddamn miracle if I can make it to the office by 9:35?
Do I hate my job that much?
On the way home from work last night, I stopped by my favorite Chinese place to pick up a couple of roast pork buns. When I walked in, a large, middle-aged Black woman was leaning against the display case with a copy of the yellow pages open before her. She said, "Can you read this?" She pointed to a line in the yellow pages. "Can you read the number for Wisconsin Avenue?"
I looked and saw a listing for a pawnbroker with two addresses, one on Wisconsin. "This one?" I read the number out loud.
"That's it. Thank you baby." She gestured to the man behind the counter. "He can't read anything."
I thought, 'But neither can you.'
As she gathered her bags, she said "He can't do nothing. Couldn't read a number. I'm glad I don't live in Communist China!" Then she left.
Let me get this straight, you go into a restaurant with no intention of buying anything, ask to see the phone book and then get angry when the staff cannot read a phone number to you? When I stepped into the situation, I couldn't tell exactly what was going on. I just smiled a lot, said little, and figured if I could give the crazy lady what she wanted, she would leave.
As soon as she left, the guy behind the counter (the same guy who is always there) said, "How can I help you?" He smiled a big, warm smile. It was the friendliest service I've ever received there, and if you live in DC, you know how valuable that is.
When I got home last night, I found a holiday card waiting for me. I don't receive many holiday cards because I don't send any (a Jewish privilege). I try and answer every card I get, though, which may account for why I stay on two or three lists.
This card, however, was totally unexpected. It was from an acquaintance who I met looking for salsa dancing companions a few years ago. We tried many times to make plans but we only succeeded twice. Her excuse was always "house hunting." She did finally buy a house, long after I'd given up on her, and she sent me a handwritten invitation to the housewarming party. I was astonished by the inclusion in the invitation of two business-like cards listing the places where she was registered. Registered? For a housewarming? I thought it was pretty nervy. But I figured, what the hey, it was a housewarming, I'd probably bring something anyway, so why not pick something from her registry? There was not a single item on the registry for less than $50. For someone I'd met twice? That seemed most unreasonable. The registry had things like china and flatware and appliances.
I felt arm-twisted into getting her something, but I showed up with candles, chocolates and bath soaps. I spent maybe $25. She had quite a spread at that housewarming. Tons of food--shrimp, wine, fancy stuff. And a room upstairs where she showed me all the big gifts. She said how much she liked my present, but I felt very uncomfortable. That was the last time I saw her and it was over a year ago.
The non-holiday specific card contained this message, "Jamy--Let's find an opportunity to get together soon. Call me (202) 555-5555. Sally"
My first reaction? Nervy! "Call me?" Really? Sweetheart, I am in the phone book. I have not changed my number, my email or my mailing address. If you actually wanted to see me, why haven't you done something about it? I have invited you to the last several parties I had and where were you? Nowhere. The time you said you would come, you were a no-show.
Call you? I think not.
Check out I'm not a girl, not yet a wino today. Kris has done a lovely public service by asking bloggers everywhere to submit their "Best of 2005" and linking us all up. I have two pieces in the "Romance/Relationships" category (natch). There is a wonderful variety of blogs represented, so take a look and maybe you'll find something new to entertain and delight you. Thanks Kris--it's much appreciated.
Grateful for: odds and ends.
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
Thanks, but no thanks
This week, I received two requests for advice. One request was dealt with privately, but since "Vespertine" asked her question in the comments, I thought it was time for another installment of "Dear Jamy."
I haven't done much to get this off the ground, and I'm not exactly inundated by your requests for advice, but I'd like to make it a regular feature (at least during the dating lulls).
From now on (at least until I say otherwise or if you don't ask questions), every Tuesday, I will answer a question or two sent in from readers. I'll even provide follow-up advice upon request. We can keep things as public or as private as you like.
Here is today's question:
You seem to have a good perspective on these things, so I'd like to ask for a bit of advice.
Last week, I went on a an internet date. Very nice guy, but something is just not clicking for me. He has called once, and emailed once since then asking to go out again. Normally, I am not the tongue tied sort, but for some reason, I am struggling to find a way to say I like you, but I don't feel like pursuing this thing.
I considered just letting it dwindle, but I hate it when people do that to me, so I feel I should respond in some way. Suggestions?
Vespertine
First, thanks for the kind words.
Second, some unsolicited advice. You say he's a nice guy. Are you willing to go on a second date with him? Unscientific opinion says that you should go on a second date as long as the guy is not an absolute boor. Perhaps he could grow on you? I'm not suggesting that you force things. If you're not feeling it, you're not feeling it and there's not much to be done. However, if you genuinely enjoy his company, I'd say give him one more date before making a decision.
Third, an answer to the question you asked. You are considering not calling him back at all because you are not interested. I think you know the answer when you say, "I hate it when people do that to me." You hate it, he hates it, we all hate it. So don't do it. You may not want to go out on a second date with him, but you can let him know it's not because he did something wrong or that you dislike him. Given that you've only had one date and you met via the internet, it is acceptable to give him the brush off via email. Calling is more personal, but infinitely more awkward, so use your best judgment as to which route to take.
As to what you should say, be as honest as possible while still being kind. You might say something like, "It was great meeting you and I had fun on our date. Unfortunately, I don't think it's going to work out. You are a great guy and I wish you the best." It is not easy to send this message, and he may have follow up questions (sigh), but it is infinitely more polite than ignoring him.
(The most palatable internet dating rejection I ever received was from a guy who said, "I don't think we're romantically suited, but I would love to be friends." He didn't follow up on the friends thing, but it sure softened the blow. Besides, I felt the same way and I admired him for managing to find a kind way to say it.)
Ignoring him is the coward's way out, but sometimes it's the only thing to be done. If you give a firm "no" and he keeps calling, it will do no good to communicate with him further. If he won't take no for answer, he's a jerk and you have my permission to ignore him.
Good luck and let us know what happens.
~jamy
P.S. If you have ever received a rejection, what made it palatable? What made it harsh? Readers, how would you want to receive this message?
Grateful for: the chance to worry about someone else's problems.
I haven't done much to get this off the ground, and I'm not exactly inundated by your requests for advice, but I'd like to make it a regular feature (at least during the dating lulls).
From now on (at least until I say otherwise or if you don't ask questions), every Tuesday, I will answer a question or two sent in from readers. I'll even provide follow-up advice upon request. We can keep things as public or as private as you like.
Here is today's question:
You seem to have a good perspective on these things, so I'd like to ask for a bit of advice.
Last week, I went on a an internet date. Very nice guy, but something is just not clicking for me. He has called once, and emailed once since then asking to go out again. Normally, I am not the tongue tied sort, but for some reason, I am struggling to find a way to say I like you, but I don't feel like pursuing this thing.
I considered just letting it dwindle, but I hate it when people do that to me, so I feel I should respond in some way. Suggestions?
Vespertine
First, thanks for the kind words.
Second, some unsolicited advice. You say he's a nice guy. Are you willing to go on a second date with him? Unscientific opinion says that you should go on a second date as long as the guy is not an absolute boor. Perhaps he could grow on you? I'm not suggesting that you force things. If you're not feeling it, you're not feeling it and there's not much to be done. However, if you genuinely enjoy his company, I'd say give him one more date before making a decision.
Third, an answer to the question you asked. You are considering not calling him back at all because you are not interested. I think you know the answer when you say, "I hate it when people do that to me." You hate it, he hates it, we all hate it. So don't do it. You may not want to go out on a second date with him, but you can let him know it's not because he did something wrong or that you dislike him. Given that you've only had one date and you met via the internet, it is acceptable to give him the brush off via email. Calling is more personal, but infinitely more awkward, so use your best judgment as to which route to take.
As to what you should say, be as honest as possible while still being kind. You might say something like, "It was great meeting you and I had fun on our date. Unfortunately, I don't think it's going to work out. You are a great guy and I wish you the best." It is not easy to send this message, and he may have follow up questions (sigh), but it is infinitely more polite than ignoring him.
(The most palatable internet dating rejection I ever received was from a guy who said, "I don't think we're romantically suited, but I would love to be friends." He didn't follow up on the friends thing, but it sure softened the blow. Besides, I felt the same way and I admired him for managing to find a kind way to say it.)
Ignoring him is the coward's way out, but sometimes it's the only thing to be done. If you give a firm "no" and he keeps calling, it will do no good to communicate with him further. If he won't take no for answer, he's a jerk and you have my permission to ignore him.
Good luck and let us know what happens.
~jamy
P.S. If you have ever received a rejection, what made it palatable? What made it harsh? Readers, how would you want to receive this message?
Grateful for: the chance to worry about someone else's problems.
Monday, December 19, 2005
Lost weekend
Plan: spend as much of the weekend in a drunken stupor as possible.
Flaw with plan: I can't hold my liquor.
Result of plan: Headache, lethargy and loss of appetite.
Friday
Spesh came to my office party (held at work buddy, TR's, house, a few blocks away from me). I brought cookies. The party was held "off campus" so that we could drink at will. Works for the plan!
I said, "People will think you're my boyfriend."
He said, "I don't care. Keep them guessing."
At least he's not ashamed to be associated with me. Spesh was shocked to see me drink a half a glass of wine and a rum and coke.
"J, You're not a drinker!"
"Sometimes I am."
"Is there a reason?"
"Damn straight there's a reason."
He didn't get it. I told him the one minute version of the latest installment of the Tim story, but Spesh was not impressed.
After the office party, we went to my place and took (work-friend) Diego with us. We hung out and drank my "scientifically" brewed tea. Diego stuck around for an hour or so. I IM'd with Pele. Spesh started writing to her too and pretended (poorly) to be me. He asked her what she was wearing. She thought that was a strange question.
Later that evening, we met Spesh's friend, Thad, to go to a potluck. Before the potluck, we went to another guy's house for a drink. I had sobered up by then, but after one beer I was back on the road to drunkville. Yay me.
We went to an unscheduled dinner party (where I dropped off some cookies) and left right before they served the food (boo) then drove all the way to Maryland for our regularly scheduled potluck. We didn't get there until after 10pm and most of the food was gone. I provided more cookies. Sigh. I never had a proper dinner.
Spesh did all the driving because Thad was even drunker than I by the end of the evening. They dropped me home after 2am.
Saturday
When I woke, I was fuzzy as hell and realized the flaw in my plan. Traditionally, I've never gotten a hangover, but I drank more than my three-drink-a-day limit and I felt tired and blah. How was I going to make it to the Santa pub crawl?
Turned out, it was not fated to be. Pele was tied up with work (damn and blast congress) and didn't know when she would be able to leave. Her worst fear was that she would be there until midnight. MIDNIGHT.
I took myself to lunch and a movie at Union Station.
I was in communication with Velvet about her evening plans. She thought it would be a good idea for me to impersonate her on her date. I thought it was a hilarious idea but I declined to go through with it. However, I did agree to meet her at the site of the date and spy and/or rescue her depending on the situation.
Pele called and said she could leave work at 7pm. She came with me on the Velvet rescue mission. (You can read about Velvet's date here. Rescue indeed.)
We went for a drink and ate some food. I had two martinis and I was OUT.
On our walk back to the car, I pulled out the cookies I'd brought with me. I was going to give out cookies on the pub crawl and I brought them with me despite the change of plans. I opened up the box and offered some to a very drunk lost-in-the-80's trio. They refused. Another group (two gals and a guy) passed us walking in the same direction and I offered them cookies. The guy said, "Really?"
"Yes. I made them."
"Ok!" He scooped up two.
I turned to the women with him, "Cookie?"
They looked at me and said, "Um. No."
Rude! I promise, girls, you won't get fat if you eat one cookie.
A minute later, even though the group had walked well ahead of us, I saw the guy turn around and run towards us. Pele said, "What is he doing?"
I said, "He wants more cookies."
When he got to me, I said, "More cookies?"
"Yes! Thanks!" He took three or four and ran back to his friends. We couldn't stop laughing.
I arrived home at a more reasonable hour and was in bed by 1am. An early night!
Sunday
I managed to sleep late and I didn't feel like complete crap when I got up. I roamed around the house, considered showering and cleaning, but did neither. I was transfixed by the television for a while, then decided that to take myself out to lunch and the movies.
I went to a Chinese place, but found I had little appetite. No headache, but no desire to eat. I pushed the food around my plate and drank a lot of tea.
My fortune: From now on your kindness will lead you to success. About damn time.
I went to see Syriana. I'm sure it's a fine movie (or maybe not), but all I cared about was getting to the non-subtitled parts so I could close my eyes. I don't think I actually slept, but when the lights went down I realized how completely exhausted I was.
After that, I had one more potluck to attend. I went straight from the movie to the party. Remember that writing class I took way back when? The party was hosted by the instructor. Even though I didn't like the class much, I had no compunction about going to the party. I brought cookies. They were a big hit.
Unfortunately, all the men at the potluck were either gay or coupled. I had a good time, though. Diego met me there and I tried to talk to some of the gay men on his behalf. Sadly, most of them were coupled too. Diego and I went for a quick bite to eat after the party. That was good because I don't see him very much these days.
I took a cab home and was asleep by midnight.
I can't wait to see what excitement this week brings. It won't be more drinking, I can promise you that.
Grateful for: knowing my limits.
Flaw with plan: I can't hold my liquor.
Result of plan: Headache, lethargy and loss of appetite.
Friday
Spesh came to my office party (held at work buddy, TR's, house, a few blocks away from me). I brought cookies. The party was held "off campus" so that we could drink at will. Works for the plan!
I said, "People will think you're my boyfriend."
He said, "I don't care. Keep them guessing."
At least he's not ashamed to be associated with me. Spesh was shocked to see me drink a half a glass of wine and a rum and coke.
"J, You're not a drinker!"
"Sometimes I am."
"Is there a reason?"
"Damn straight there's a reason."
He didn't get it. I told him the one minute version of the latest installment of the Tim story, but Spesh was not impressed.
After the office party, we went to my place and took (work-friend) Diego with us. We hung out and drank my "scientifically" brewed tea. Diego stuck around for an hour or so. I IM'd with Pele. Spesh started writing to her too and pretended (poorly) to be me. He asked her what she was wearing. She thought that was a strange question.
Later that evening, we met Spesh's friend, Thad, to go to a potluck. Before the potluck, we went to another guy's house for a drink. I had sobered up by then, but after one beer I was back on the road to drunkville. Yay me.
We went to an unscheduled dinner party (where I dropped off some cookies) and left right before they served the food (boo) then drove all the way to Maryland for our regularly scheduled potluck. We didn't get there until after 10pm and most of the food was gone. I provided more cookies. Sigh. I never had a proper dinner.
Spesh did all the driving because Thad was even drunker than I by the end of the evening. They dropped me home after 2am.
Saturday
When I woke, I was fuzzy as hell and realized the flaw in my plan. Traditionally, I've never gotten a hangover, but I drank more than my three-drink-a-day limit and I felt tired and blah. How was I going to make it to the Santa pub crawl?
Turned out, it was not fated to be. Pele was tied up with work (damn and blast congress) and didn't know when she would be able to leave. Her worst fear was that she would be there until midnight. MIDNIGHT.
I took myself to lunch and a movie at Union Station.
I was in communication with Velvet about her evening plans. She thought it would be a good idea for me to impersonate her on her date. I thought it was a hilarious idea but I declined to go through with it. However, I did agree to meet her at the site of the date and spy and/or rescue her depending on the situation.
Pele called and said she could leave work at 7pm. She came with me on the Velvet rescue mission. (You can read about Velvet's date here. Rescue indeed.)
We went for a drink and ate some food. I had two martinis and I was OUT.
On our walk back to the car, I pulled out the cookies I'd brought with me. I was going to give out cookies on the pub crawl and I brought them with me despite the change of plans. I opened up the box and offered some to a very drunk lost-in-the-80's trio. They refused. Another group (two gals and a guy) passed us walking in the same direction and I offered them cookies. The guy said, "Really?"
"Yes. I made them."
"Ok!" He scooped up two.
I turned to the women with him, "Cookie?"
They looked at me and said, "Um. No."
Rude! I promise, girls, you won't get fat if you eat one cookie.
A minute later, even though the group had walked well ahead of us, I saw the guy turn around and run towards us. Pele said, "What is he doing?"
I said, "He wants more cookies."
When he got to me, I said, "More cookies?"
"Yes! Thanks!" He took three or four and ran back to his friends. We couldn't stop laughing.
I arrived home at a more reasonable hour and was in bed by 1am. An early night!
Sunday
I managed to sleep late and I didn't feel like complete crap when I got up. I roamed around the house, considered showering and cleaning, but did neither. I was transfixed by the television for a while, then decided that to take myself out to lunch and the movies.
I went to a Chinese place, but found I had little appetite. No headache, but no desire to eat. I pushed the food around my plate and drank a lot of tea.
My fortune: From now on your kindness will lead you to success. About damn time.
I went to see Syriana. I'm sure it's a fine movie (or maybe not), but all I cared about was getting to the non-subtitled parts so I could close my eyes. I don't think I actually slept, but when the lights went down I realized how completely exhausted I was.
After that, I had one more potluck to attend. I went straight from the movie to the party. Remember that writing class I took way back when? The party was hosted by the instructor. Even though I didn't like the class much, I had no compunction about going to the party. I brought cookies. They were a big hit.
Unfortunately, all the men at the potluck were either gay or coupled. I had a good time, though. Diego met me there and I tried to talk to some of the gay men on his behalf. Sadly, most of them were coupled too. Diego and I went for a quick bite to eat after the party. That was good because I don't see him very much these days.
I took a cab home and was asleep by midnight.
I can't wait to see what excitement this week brings. It won't be more drinking, I can promise you that.
Grateful for: knowing my limits.
Friday, December 16, 2005
Oh My God
Tonight, I find myself browsing the Yahoo personals. I have no intention of answering any ads, but I read a story about a guy with a service monkey (I'm not kidding) who posted an ad, and there is a link. I click through. Before I know it, I'm searching in my area.
I get to the third page and who do I find? Who? WHO? TIM. That's who. Says he's divorced. Active in the last 24 hours.
I consider calling Velvet and having her set him up for a fall. (Rejected: it's not my style.)
I should call Pele.
I stare at his pictures.
I feel slightly ill.
I can't fucking get away from this guy.
I call him.
J: How are you?
T: Fine.
J: Divorced yet?
T: What? No. I'm at the house right now.
J: Really. Cause I was just looking at the Yahoo personals. And I found you.
T: Oh.
Long silence. Very long. Then I hear a discussion between him and his wife.
Wife: Who is that?
T: It's Jamy.
W: What are you doing?
T: She called. I'm not doing anything. She called.
W: Why did you walk away?
T: I wanted some privacy.
W: That's rude. You're making her wait.
T: Ok, I'm going in here.
It's the first time I've heard her voice. She sounds...nice.
T: Hi.
J: Hi.
T: So...
J: So what are you doing? I feel like I got played.
T: You didn't get played.
J: No? Really?
T: No. I told you I was going back with my wife to try and work things out. That's what I'm doing.
J: I know this is awkward. I don't want to make things harder for you.
I start laughing. And I find myself laughing through most of the rest of the conversation. What else is there to do?
T: Why are you laughing?
J: Because this is hilarious. It's absurd. Why do you have that ad up? And it's not old.
T: I don't know. She thinks I should take it down too.
J: You should. You really should. I feel like I can't get away from you! I know it's not about me, it's not personal.
T: It's funny, I was thinking about you today. When I was making dinner.
J: Why?
T: I don't know. I was thinking I should call and see how you were. Say Happy Hanukah. But then I thought I shouldn't.
J: It's better that you didn't call. It would be for all the wrong reasons. It would give me the wrong idea. And then it would just gratify your vanity. This way, you can still be gratified and you won't give me the wrong impression. Cause obviously I still care or I wouldn't be upset about this.
T: Thanks for that.
I laugh. I am hilarious.
T: How are you?
J: I'm fine. I was thinking about you too. I was worried that I might run into you this weekend.
T: Oh? Where.
J: At this pub crawl....
T: We're going to a concert on Saturday. (He provides details. We talk about the concert. I think, how mature of them.)
J: Well, that's good.
I hear his wife talking indistinctly in the background.
T: I better let you go.
J: You mean you have to go or your wife is going to get mad at you.
T: Yes.
J: Look, at least tell me how you are, because I'm never going to talk to you again. I know, why do I say that, it's not true, whatever. Just tell me.
T: I'm good. I'm doing well. How are you?
J: I'm fine. I just had a guy tell me that I'm single by choice. I could have a boyfriend if I wanted.
T: Oh, who is he?
J: A guy who wants to be my boyfriend, I suppose.
T: So, why don't you make him your boyfriend?
J: You don't get to be my boyfriend just because you're male. I like him. But, well, it's not that.
T: How did you meet him?
J: Oh, well, I haven't known him that long. Ok, you better go. Take care.
T: You too.
Whew. Crazy. Funny. So OVER.
Grateful that: I don't have to worry about running into him on Saturday. Color me pleased.
P.S. There is no need to tell me that Tim is a player or that I should get over him. I did what I had to do and I don't regret it. I would have stewed otherwise and that is not acceptable. Moving along now. Moving right along.
I get to the third page and who do I find? Who? WHO? TIM. That's who. Says he's divorced. Active in the last 24 hours.
I consider calling Velvet and having her set him up for a fall. (Rejected: it's not my style.)
I should call Pele.
I stare at his pictures.
I feel slightly ill.
I can't fucking get away from this guy.
I call him.
J: How are you?
T: Fine.
J: Divorced yet?
T: What? No. I'm at the house right now.
J: Really. Cause I was just looking at the Yahoo personals. And I found you.
T: Oh.
Long silence. Very long. Then I hear a discussion between him and his wife.
Wife: Who is that?
T: It's Jamy.
W: What are you doing?
T: She called. I'm not doing anything. She called.
W: Why did you walk away?
T: I wanted some privacy.
W: That's rude. You're making her wait.
T: Ok, I'm going in here.
It's the first time I've heard her voice. She sounds...nice.
T: Hi.
J: Hi.
T: So...
J: So what are you doing? I feel like I got played.
T: You didn't get played.
J: No? Really?
T: No. I told you I was going back with my wife to try and work things out. That's what I'm doing.
J: I know this is awkward. I don't want to make things harder for you.
I start laughing. And I find myself laughing through most of the rest of the conversation. What else is there to do?
T: Why are you laughing?
J: Because this is hilarious. It's absurd. Why do you have that ad up? And it's not old.
T: I don't know. She thinks I should take it down too.
J: You should. You really should. I feel like I can't get away from you! I know it's not about me, it's not personal.
T: It's funny, I was thinking about you today. When I was making dinner.
J: Why?
T: I don't know. I was thinking I should call and see how you were. Say Happy Hanukah. But then I thought I shouldn't.
J: It's better that you didn't call. It would be for all the wrong reasons. It would give me the wrong idea. And then it would just gratify your vanity. This way, you can still be gratified and you won't give me the wrong impression. Cause obviously I still care or I wouldn't be upset about this.
T: Thanks for that.
I laugh. I am hilarious.
T: How are you?
J: I'm fine. I was thinking about you too. I was worried that I might run into you this weekend.
T: Oh? Where.
J: At this pub crawl....
T: We're going to a concert on Saturday. (He provides details. We talk about the concert. I think, how mature of them.)
J: Well, that's good.
I hear his wife talking indistinctly in the background.
T: I better let you go.
J: You mean you have to go or your wife is going to get mad at you.
T: Yes.
J: Look, at least tell me how you are, because I'm never going to talk to you again. I know, why do I say that, it's not true, whatever. Just tell me.
T: I'm good. I'm doing well. How are you?
J: I'm fine. I just had a guy tell me that I'm single by choice. I could have a boyfriend if I wanted.
T: Oh, who is he?
J: A guy who wants to be my boyfriend, I suppose.
T: So, why don't you make him your boyfriend?
J: You don't get to be my boyfriend just because you're male. I like him. But, well, it's not that.
T: How did you meet him?
J: Oh, well, I haven't known him that long. Ok, you better go. Take care.
T: You too.
Whew. Crazy. Funny. So OVER.
Grateful that: I don't have to worry about running into him on Saturday. Color me pleased.
P.S. There is no need to tell me that Tim is a player or that I should get over him. I did what I had to do and I don't regret it. I would have stewed otherwise and that is not acceptable. Moving along now. Moving right along.
Thursday, December 15, 2005
Am I a bad person?
On the downside:
- One of my contractors gave me a big box of candy today. I don't want to share it with the rest of the office. I am selfish when it comes to candy.
- I am incapable of doing more than an hours worth of work at the office. (I answer emails, and make phone calls, but the papers pile up on my desk and reports go unread.)
- My mother sent me a sushi making set for Hanukah (one of several presents). I have no desire to make sushi at home. Consequently, I haven't called her to say thank you.
- I only play with the cat one minute a day.
- I ate cookie dough and soup for dinner last night (very little of either, actually).
- I am always late to work. And I mean always.
- Vacuuming, as a concept, has ceased to exist at my house.
- I've been lying to myself for weeks (e.g., I will to go to the gym, I will go to bed at 11pm, I will get to the office by 9am).
- I'm keeping the digital camera (maybe that's bad), but giving more to charity this year to make up for it.
- I liked the other Hanukah present Mom got me and thanked her profusely.
- I do my back exercises at least every other day.
- I feed the cat and scoop her box every day. I pet her when she lets me and she sleeps under the covers sometimes.
- I am thinking about work, which almost counts (some of my job requires thinking).
- I baked several dozen cookies last night, from scratch, and only ate three or four (perhaps the soup filled me up).
- I pay the bills on time.
- I write every day.
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Drinking dilemma
The other day, from whence I knew not, I received an evite to a Santa-themed pub crawl. It struck me as ridiculous, yet appealing. I had no intention of going, but for amusement's sake, I forwarded the message to Pele. I received an unexpectedly positive and enthusiastic response from that quarter. We decided to go and started to plot cheap costuming strategies. We figured out how I could be sufficiently elf-like and Pele could be sufficiently Miss Santa-like, with a minimum of fuss.
Then, Pele started to piece together where the invite came from. "You know, there are few people on here I know. Like this guy…"
"Oh, I totally missed that. I know…wait, who is that?"
"You remember him." Pele said.
"Wait. Ah, I know what it is…it's kickball! Damnit."
"Yes, it's kickball. You know what that means."
It took me a second--a bunch of drunken frat boys 10 years too young for me? No. That wasn't the problem. "Oh. Oh shit! No. This sucks. Damnit."
"He could be there."
"He totally could." I said.
"There's no reason why not."
"I can see him being there. This sucks."
This is all about Tim, of course. The guy I met at kickball. The guy I broke up with a month and a half ago. The guy I saw at a singles event three weeks ago. If we were on that list, then certainly Tim was too. I could imagine him putting on a Santa hat and wandering around drinking for a few hours. There's not even any particular reason that he shouldn't go. Except that it would ruin my evening.
Pele generously offered to email him and tell him not to go. I considered her offer, but thought I should be the one to contact him. I asked (work-friend) Diego what he thought I should do. Diego said that I should send Pele into the first bar on the crawl and if Tim weren't there, we were set. If he were there, we should do our own pub crawl. Pele responded that she could see Tim being a late arrival and that she didn't want to go around dressed like Santa without the other Santas. Fair enough. I told her maybe I would call Tim and try to get the info from him in a sneaky way. If he were planning to go, I'd figure out what to say then. He'd probably resign on his own.
Pele and I were so getting in the spirit of the thing. We were not expecting much except to act silly, hand out candy and get a little drunk. That's all we wanted. That, and the possibility of flirting with some boys. Seeing Tim would pretty much cancel out the fun in all of those activities for me, especially the last one.
Dear readers, care to help out with some options? This is what I have so far:
(Tim, if you are reading, do me a favor and let me know you're not coming out on Saturday. That would be a kindness indeed.)
Grateful for: Santa!
Then, Pele started to piece together where the invite came from. "You know, there are few people on here I know. Like this guy…"
"Oh, I totally missed that. I know…wait, who is that?"
"You remember him." Pele said.
"Wait. Ah, I know what it is…it's kickball! Damnit."
"Yes, it's kickball. You know what that means."
It took me a second--a bunch of drunken frat boys 10 years too young for me? No. That wasn't the problem. "Oh. Oh shit! No. This sucks. Damnit."
"He could be there."
"He totally could." I said.
"There's no reason why not."
"I can see him being there. This sucks."
This is all about Tim, of course. The guy I met at kickball. The guy I broke up with a month and a half ago. The guy I saw at a singles event three weeks ago. If we were on that list, then certainly Tim was too. I could imagine him putting on a Santa hat and wandering around drinking for a few hours. There's not even any particular reason that he shouldn't go. Except that it would ruin my evening.
Pele generously offered to email him and tell him not to go. I considered her offer, but thought I should be the one to contact him. I asked (work-friend) Diego what he thought I should do. Diego said that I should send Pele into the first bar on the crawl and if Tim weren't there, we were set. If he were there, we should do our own pub crawl. Pele responded that she could see Tim being a late arrival and that she didn't want to go around dressed like Santa without the other Santas. Fair enough. I told her maybe I would call Tim and try to get the info from him in a sneaky way. If he were planning to go, I'd figure out what to say then. He'd probably resign on his own.
Pele and I were so getting in the spirit of the thing. We were not expecting much except to act silly, hand out candy and get a little drunk. That's all we wanted. That, and the possibility of flirting with some boys. Seeing Tim would pretty much cancel out the fun in all of those activities for me, especially the last one.
Dear readers, care to help out with some options? This is what I have so far:
- Pele emails Tim and asks him not to come (I rejected this, but she is willing).
- I call or email Tim and make sure he's not coming (seems fraught with danger for yours truly. But I would have plenty of time to rid myself of any angst related to such phone call by Saturday.)
- Pele scopes out the bar and makes sure he's not there. We leave if he is. (Boo--we miss fun Santa-themed night.)
- We do nothing and hope for the best.
(Tim, if you are reading, do me a favor and let me know you're not coming out on Saturday. That would be a kindness indeed.)
Grateful for: Santa!
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
What, me worry?
I finished all of my unpacking and put everything away or in the hamper on Sunday night.
Somehow, in that process, I lost my smartcard. It's not a disaster to lose a smartcard. I've done it before.
What I'm concerned about is why I lost the card.
When I was in grade school, I would lose my keys. Once I lost my keys when I was in the fifth grade. Dad got very angry and I cried. After that he bought me an enormous keychain made out of clear plastic in the shape of a turtle. It barely fit in one of my back pockets. I didn't lose my keys for many years after that. I hated the keychain.
The next time I remember losing my keys was my first year in grad school. I was using a man's-style old fashioned key holder--the kind with removable fobs in a leather case. It had mild sentimental value and it was small, which I liked. I remember running across campus trying to retrace my steps looking for it. Then I accepted that it was gone. I felt calm. My landlady gave me a new key, I had spare car keys and the key to the office was easily replaced.
I haven't lost my keys since.
But I have lost my smartcard. The first time was when I moved to my current place. No one had used it when I noticed it was missing a few days later. It got lost in the shuffle. I replaced it.
The second time, it wasn't lost. It was stolen. It was in a backpack that was lifted from the trunk of a car I was using. Gone. I bought a new one.
And now, a third time. It must be somewhere in my house; but where? I was a half an hour late to work because I was hunting around the apartment looking for it.
Why do I think things like this mean something? I used to lose my keys when I was worried about something. What do I have to be worried about? I have no hard decisions to make. I have no tragic romances. Work is steady. I have plenty of friends around. So why do I feel like I would like to go far away and not do anything for a week? I go out of town for the weekend and I need a sick day to recover (admittedly, it was the opposite of a relaxing weekend). I can't file my papers, do the vacuuming or keep the house in much order at all. It's not total disaster. I'm still washing the dishes, taking out the trash and doing the laundry. But I feel like I'm moving through molasses. Maybe it's the weather. I feel ready to do something--to move, run, dance, exercise--but when it comes to it, I'm happy under a blanket, watching t.v. and monitoring the internet.
I'm the laziest restless person ever. And I'd sure like to know where that smartcard went.
UPDATE: I found the smartcard right before I went to bed. I don't know how it ended up on the dining room table, but there it was smiling up at me, presumably after dislodging itself from the underside of some papers or the computer or my bag.
Here's the thing: I WAS worried about something and as soon as that worry was resolved (thank you a million times over for being so understanding, you-know-who), the smartcard reappeared. It reminds of me of a little thing my mother calls, "the power of inanimate objects." It can be telling. (And no, I don't believe the smartcard lost itself, but they call it "smart" for a reason, don't they?)
Grateful for: not much to worry about.
Somehow, in that process, I lost my smartcard. It's not a disaster to lose a smartcard. I've done it before.
What I'm concerned about is why I lost the card.
When I was in grade school, I would lose my keys. Once I lost my keys when I was in the fifth grade. Dad got very angry and I cried. After that he bought me an enormous keychain made out of clear plastic in the shape of a turtle. It barely fit in one of my back pockets. I didn't lose my keys for many years after that. I hated the keychain.
The next time I remember losing my keys was my first year in grad school. I was using a man's-style old fashioned key holder--the kind with removable fobs in a leather case. It had mild sentimental value and it was small, which I liked. I remember running across campus trying to retrace my steps looking for it. Then I accepted that it was gone. I felt calm. My landlady gave me a new key, I had spare car keys and the key to the office was easily replaced.
I haven't lost my keys since.
But I have lost my smartcard. The first time was when I moved to my current place. No one had used it when I noticed it was missing a few days later. It got lost in the shuffle. I replaced it.
The second time, it wasn't lost. It was stolen. It was in a backpack that was lifted from the trunk of a car I was using. Gone. I bought a new one.
And now, a third time. It must be somewhere in my house; but where? I was a half an hour late to work because I was hunting around the apartment looking for it.
Why do I think things like this mean something? I used to lose my keys when I was worried about something. What do I have to be worried about? I have no hard decisions to make. I have no tragic romances. Work is steady. I have plenty of friends around. So why do I feel like I would like to go far away and not do anything for a week? I go out of town for the weekend and I need a sick day to recover (admittedly, it was the opposite of a relaxing weekend). I can't file my papers, do the vacuuming or keep the house in much order at all. It's not total disaster. I'm still washing the dishes, taking out the trash and doing the laundry. But I feel like I'm moving through molasses. Maybe it's the weather. I feel ready to do something--to move, run, dance, exercise--but when it comes to it, I'm happy under a blanket, watching t.v. and monitoring the internet.
I'm the laziest restless person ever. And I'd sure like to know where that smartcard went.
UPDATE: I found the smartcard right before I went to bed. I don't know how it ended up on the dining room table, but there it was smiling up at me, presumably after dislodging itself from the underside of some papers or the computer or my bag.
Here's the thing: I WAS worried about something and as soon as that worry was resolved (thank you a million times over for being so understanding, you-know-who), the smartcard reappeared. It reminds of me of a little thing my mother calls, "the power of inanimate objects." It can be telling. (And no, I don't believe the smartcard lost itself, but they call it "smart" for a reason, don't they?)
Grateful for: not much to worry about.
Monday, December 12, 2005
A long weekend
I got home 45 minutes ago and I should be unpacking. I've found that if I don't unpack immediately, I can have a full-ish suitcase hanging around for a week. I'll type now, unpack soon.
I can never spend too much time in NY. Have I mentioned that I've wanted to live there for about 15 years? Ever since I graduated from college. It's just a fantasy. I've never done anything about it. I've been taking trips to NYC at least once a year since we moved away (when I was 2). I know my way around Manhattan, I don't feel like a tourist (usually) and I'm comfortable there. However, this trip I made a couple of rookie mistakes: I didn't dress warmly enough and I got on the wrong subway.
When I got to NY, the first item on the agenda was to see Uncle Marty. I love Uncle Marty, but I haven't seen him the last couple of times I've been in NY/NJ because of the family situation. Uncle Marty is my mother's brother, thus he is not my brother's (B1) uncle. They're not enemies, but they don't see each other and there's no sense that Uncle Marty is included in Barab-family events. He really should be since is one of my favorite people. Uncle Marty is one of the first adults who treated me as a full human being and not as a child--and he still does.
The plan was to arrive Friday afternoon, go visit Uncle Marty, go straight from there to meet Dad at the memorial for Walter, then go with Dad to the place we were staying (an apartment on the Upper West Side). Saturday was set aside for Dad, then Sunday we would go to NJ to see B1 and family. I introduced a wrinkle into this plan by a having a date (more on that later) on Saturday. The plan was to meet my friend at 11:00am for breakfast/lunch, then have the rest of the day with Dad. I cleared this with Dad. If Dad had said "no" I would probably not have seen my friend (ok, kept my date), but I asked, Dad said fine. So I thought it would be fine.
I got to Uncle Marty's later than planned because the train was delayed. After a tiny bit of small talk, he asked, "Want something to drink?"
"Sure." I'm thinking soda or water.
"What would you like?"
"I don't know."
"I'm having a whisky sour."
"That's sounds good. I'll have one too."
That was my first mistake.
We drank, we talked. He asked if I were seeing someone and I told him a little bit about Tim. When I got to the part about him being separated, Uncle Marty shook his head, "That's no good." Yes. I do get that people, but thanks for reminding me.
After he gave me my X-mas/Hanukah/Winter Solstice present--a beautiful burgundy, paisley Indian shawl-- I pulled out the brownies. He did not offer me a brownie! He loves his brownies. He did give me some cheese and crackers. And another drink. I objected to the second drink but he insisted. I do respect my elders.
After finishing the second drink and helping Uncle Marty with his computer (I provide software consultation for all family members over age 60), I realized that I was already late to meet Dad. I was supposed to be there at 5:30, but I didn't leave Uncle Marty's until 6:00pm.
On my walk to the bus, I decided to call my friend about our date. He'd suggested that we meet at a touristy spot in Times Square. I'd agreed but then I started to worry. The food would be mediocre, the prices high and I would be dissatisfied. What was I to do? How could I suggest that he suggest another place because as native-New-Yorker-like as I am, I am not a native New Yorker. My solution to the conundrum was to call him while drunk. Nice. Very nice.
As it turned out, it was a good plan. I wasn't nervous and he was agreeable. He came up with a new plan and all was well. We also had a funny conversation, of which I remember very little. I mean, it was me and I had two whiskey sours in 2.5 hours on an almost empty stomach. It's a miracle I didn't slur my words or pass out.
I arrived a full hour and a half late to the memorial. I missed Dad's speech. I didn't even know he was making a speech. Afterwards, we went to dinner with old friends of Dad's. But, the main old friend (Frances) was not available and Dad agreed to meet her the next day for brunch at 11:00am. He asked if that were ok with me. It wasn't ok, but what could I do? Frances is 81 and I don't get to see her very often. I said I would rearrange and I called my friend and pushed our date back to 12:30. I felt like a jerk for changing the plans, but he was gracious. He said, "I have infinite patience."
"Really? I hope not."
"Well, not really."
"Good. But I'm glad you have enough patience for this ridiculousness."
Dinner with old friends was fine. Getting home was fine. Falling asleep was slow. Strange house, extremely hard bed and unexpectedly free wi-fi conspired to keep me up late.
Dad started Saturday by quizzing me about my reproductive intentions. He has the subtlety of a sledge hammer. I came down to the kitchen and after offering me coffee, he says, "Jamy, do you want to have children?"
I said, "We've been over this before."
"No we haven't."
I sigh in frustration. We have. The last time he asked, I told him that I wanted kids, but I was old fashioned and was hoping to get married first.
"Do you want to have kids? You know there are options..."
"Oh my God. I don't believe you're going there. We are not talking about this."
"Why? It's a reasonable question. You're a woman of a certain age. There are things you can do, if you want to have children. "
"Oh no. I don't believe this. We are not doing this. I am not discussing this with you. A woman of a certain age. Incredible." I mumbled the last bit to myself after I stood up and walked out of the kitchen and back to my room.
My dad is suggesting that at my advanced age, with no prospect of a husband/lover/long-time male companion, I ought to go to the doctor and get myself knocked up. Wow. I have had one friend (work friend Nancy) suggest this to me, but her approach was about a thousand times more subtle. And it was in the context of a discussion of my most recent failed relationship. Also, it's how she got pregnant. She is a lesbian in a long-term, committed relationship. If I were a lesbian in a long-term, committed relationship, I would have no qualms about going to the doctor. My concern is that it would be awfully hard to raise a child on my own. I don't want to do it that way. I'm not saying I won't, but it's not my first choice. And do I really have to make that decision right now? And do I have to discuss it with my dad?
As we were getting ready to leave the apartment, I snapped at Dad. He said, "You don't need to be so short with me."
"I'm annoyed with you right now. You're going to have to live with it for a little while."
That shut him up.
What killed me was that I knew it was going to come up during my date. (As I've mentioned before, I can't help but talk about whatever is on my mind--and this was front and center.) I wanted to make a good impression. Instead I was going to vent about my father's obsession with my biological clock. You know how the boys like that. Yes, I knew I could play it for comic effect (which I did), but I was in a bad mood, and I pretty much stayed there for the rest of the NY visit. I just didn't stop being annoyed with Dad.
Brunch with Frances was a bit of a fiasco as the first place we went was closed and the second place we tried had gone out of business. Eventually, we found a good, open place, after making a complete circle back to where we began and a stop at a liquor store. We sat down to lunch much later than planned and I had to call to delay meeting my friend once again. Maybe he really does have an infinite amount of patience.
Have I built up enough suspense about the date yet? Who was this mysterious man I was meeting in New York City? Another blogger of course! Even better, another blogger who writes about dating. And he's a famous blogger too. Very cool and a little weird. I'm getting to be an old hand at meeting other bloggers, so I wasn't too nervous.
Bob is a funny guy and able to roll with the punches--as evidenced by his reaction to my drunken phone call and the many changes of plan. He thought my name was pronounced "Jam-ee" as in jelly or preserves. He had a funny and incorrect mental image of me. He is a lot more positive than his blog persona. We walked around, talked, I got cold, we stopped for coffee and talked some more. Walking around NY is one of my most favorite things to do and I wish I had dressed more appropriately. I'm glad we met and we will stay in touch. Thanks for the coffee, Bob. (Sorry for the paucity of date details. You should be glad I mentioned it at all. Writing about a date with someone who has read the blog and will read the blog is treacherous ground.)
I was supposed to be home to meet Dad at 4:30 back at the apartment. Bob had an engagement at 3:30. He walked me to the subway and we said goodbye.
I got on the train to go back to the Upper West Side. But I got on the B going to Queens, instead of the B that stayed in Manhattan. I was writing in my journal instead of paying attention, but the occurrence of a 23rd street stop long after we'd passed 23rd street made we wonder where I was. I was in Queens. I got off the train, crossed to the other platform and headed back to Manhattan.
I stuck to my intention of visiting the Town Shop even though I knew it would make me late to meet Dad. I love the Town Shop. I especially love that my grandmother and my mother shopped there. Buying bras as a family tradition. Why not?
Since I was late to meet Dad at the apartment, I went to meet him at our next event instead, which was drinks with another old friend (of Dad's). After we talked for an hour or so, Dad and I headed out on our own for dinner. I was mildly annoyed with him all night, but we didn't argue. Mostly, I was tired. I'd been walking around all day and didn't have a chance to rest. My detour to Queens was only part of the problem.
After dinner, we tried to go to a movie, but every attempt was met with a sold out theater. That's Saturday night in Manhattan. We ended up paying a lot of money to see 15 minutes of a documentary at the "South Asian Film Festival." We were too incredulous to ask for our money back. We went home and watched a movie on t.v. It was the original version of The Four Feathers. It was a beautifully shot and fairly well-acted film and one of the most racist, pro-colonialist bits of propaganda I've ever seen. It was entertaining and horrifying all at the same time.
It ended at midnight and I said, "It's a good thing I don't have Turner Classic Movies at home because I would never sleep again. And I'd have to quit my job so I could watch movies all day." I didn't get to sleep until 2am. No excuse for that. I wasn't even watching movies.
When I woke up on Sunday, all I could think about how I wanted a New York bagel. When I got to the kitchen, there was one waiting for me, courtesy of Dad. Wasn't that sweet? Too bad I was still annoyed at him. He even brought me a cup of Starbucks coffee (brewed--too damn dark!).
We got out to NJ around noon. The kids were fantastic. B1 was happy to see us, as was my sister-in-law, Theda. My favorite moment? I was alone with B1 in the kitchen, Dad was playing Stratego in the dining room with the second niece, Beth. Theda and oldest niece, Stella, were at her soccer game. The baby boy was napping. B1 said, "Are you still blogging?"
Guess he hasn't been reading. "Yes."
"Every day?"
"Yes."
"You never take a break?"
"I don't always post on the weekends. I skip a day occasionally. But it's pretty much every day."
"Wow."
Then he asked about readership. I mentioned how I'd met people through the blog and he was surprised. It is surprising--or is it?
Later, I took a walk with Theda and the girls. I told her what Dad said to me. She was sympathetic without judging Dad. I admire her for that. I love how she thinks I'm young and have plenty of time. She's 43. I told her that my dad should be satisfied with eight grandchildren, that's he's greedy. She said, "I don't think that's what it's about." Maybe not. Maybe he thinks I don't know very much about reproductive biology. Actually, it's one of the only types of biology I know anything about, given that I studied demography in grad school. Maybe I should remind Dad of that the next time (and there will be a next time) he raises this subject.
Later, I remembered that Theda's Dad died when she was 19. Maybe I should shut up and be grateful my dad is still around to give me something to complain about.
Oh, and while there, I realized that I'd completely forgotten B1's birthday. It was about a month ago. He was slightly hurt. What's wrong with me?
The time in NJ was much too short. B1 really needs to invite me to visit more often. (Maybe I'd remember his birthday then?)
The train ride home was uneventful. I read my book instead of writing. How crazy is that?
Now it's back to the grind. I finished unpacking quickly. I stayed home from work today (Monday) feeling slightly ill, but I think mostly emotionally exhausted and sleep deprived. Back to the grind tomorrow.
Grateful for: family.
I can never spend too much time in NY. Have I mentioned that I've wanted to live there for about 15 years? Ever since I graduated from college. It's just a fantasy. I've never done anything about it. I've been taking trips to NYC at least once a year since we moved away (when I was 2). I know my way around Manhattan, I don't feel like a tourist (usually) and I'm comfortable there. However, this trip I made a couple of rookie mistakes: I didn't dress warmly enough and I got on the wrong subway.
When I got to NY, the first item on the agenda was to see Uncle Marty. I love Uncle Marty, but I haven't seen him the last couple of times I've been in NY/NJ because of the family situation. Uncle Marty is my mother's brother, thus he is not my brother's (B1) uncle. They're not enemies, but they don't see each other and there's no sense that Uncle Marty is included in Barab-family events. He really should be since is one of my favorite people. Uncle Marty is one of the first adults who treated me as a full human being and not as a child--and he still does.
The plan was to arrive Friday afternoon, go visit Uncle Marty, go straight from there to meet Dad at the memorial for Walter, then go with Dad to the place we were staying (an apartment on the Upper West Side). Saturday was set aside for Dad, then Sunday we would go to NJ to see B1 and family. I introduced a wrinkle into this plan by a having a date (more on that later) on Saturday. The plan was to meet my friend at 11:00am for breakfast/lunch, then have the rest of the day with Dad. I cleared this with Dad. If Dad had said "no" I would probably not have seen my friend (ok, kept my date), but I asked, Dad said fine. So I thought it would be fine.
I got to Uncle Marty's later than planned because the train was delayed. After a tiny bit of small talk, he asked, "Want something to drink?"
"Sure." I'm thinking soda or water.
"What would you like?"
"I don't know."
"I'm having a whisky sour."
"That's sounds good. I'll have one too."
That was my first mistake.
We drank, we talked. He asked if I were seeing someone and I told him a little bit about Tim. When I got to the part about him being separated, Uncle Marty shook his head, "That's no good." Yes. I do get that people, but thanks for reminding me.
After he gave me my X-mas/Hanukah/Winter Solstice present--a beautiful burgundy, paisley Indian shawl-- I pulled out the brownies. He did not offer me a brownie! He loves his brownies. He did give me some cheese and crackers. And another drink. I objected to the second drink but he insisted. I do respect my elders.
After finishing the second drink and helping Uncle Marty with his computer (I provide software consultation for all family members over age 60), I realized that I was already late to meet Dad. I was supposed to be there at 5:30, but I didn't leave Uncle Marty's until 6:00pm.
On my walk to the bus, I decided to call my friend about our date. He'd suggested that we meet at a touristy spot in Times Square. I'd agreed but then I started to worry. The food would be mediocre, the prices high and I would be dissatisfied. What was I to do? How could I suggest that he suggest another place because as native-New-Yorker-like as I am, I am not a native New Yorker. My solution to the conundrum was to call him while drunk. Nice. Very nice.
As it turned out, it was a good plan. I wasn't nervous and he was agreeable. He came up with a new plan and all was well. We also had a funny conversation, of which I remember very little. I mean, it was me and I had two whiskey sours in 2.5 hours on an almost empty stomach. It's a miracle I didn't slur my words or pass out.
I arrived a full hour and a half late to the memorial. I missed Dad's speech. I didn't even know he was making a speech. Afterwards, we went to dinner with old friends of Dad's. But, the main old friend (Frances) was not available and Dad agreed to meet her the next day for brunch at 11:00am. He asked if that were ok with me. It wasn't ok, but what could I do? Frances is 81 and I don't get to see her very often. I said I would rearrange and I called my friend and pushed our date back to 12:30. I felt like a jerk for changing the plans, but he was gracious. He said, "I have infinite patience."
"Really? I hope not."
"Well, not really."
"Good. But I'm glad you have enough patience for this ridiculousness."
Dinner with old friends was fine. Getting home was fine. Falling asleep was slow. Strange house, extremely hard bed and unexpectedly free wi-fi conspired to keep me up late.
Dad started Saturday by quizzing me about my reproductive intentions. He has the subtlety of a sledge hammer. I came down to the kitchen and after offering me coffee, he says, "Jamy, do you want to have children?"
I said, "We've been over this before."
"No we haven't."
I sigh in frustration. We have. The last time he asked, I told him that I wanted kids, but I was old fashioned and was hoping to get married first.
"Do you want to have kids? You know there are options..."
"Oh my God. I don't believe you're going there. We are not talking about this."
"Why? It's a reasonable question. You're a woman of a certain age. There are things you can do, if you want to have children. "
"Oh no. I don't believe this. We are not doing this. I am not discussing this with you. A woman of a certain age. Incredible." I mumbled the last bit to myself after I stood up and walked out of the kitchen and back to my room.
My dad is suggesting that at my advanced age, with no prospect of a husband/lover/long-time male companion, I ought to go to the doctor and get myself knocked up. Wow. I have had one friend (work friend Nancy) suggest this to me, but her approach was about a thousand times more subtle. And it was in the context of a discussion of my most recent failed relationship. Also, it's how she got pregnant. She is a lesbian in a long-term, committed relationship. If I were a lesbian in a long-term, committed relationship, I would have no qualms about going to the doctor. My concern is that it would be awfully hard to raise a child on my own. I don't want to do it that way. I'm not saying I won't, but it's not my first choice. And do I really have to make that decision right now? And do I have to discuss it with my dad?
As we were getting ready to leave the apartment, I snapped at Dad. He said, "You don't need to be so short with me."
"I'm annoyed with you right now. You're going to have to live with it for a little while."
That shut him up.
What killed me was that I knew it was going to come up during my date. (As I've mentioned before, I can't help but talk about whatever is on my mind--and this was front and center.) I wanted to make a good impression. Instead I was going to vent about my father's obsession with my biological clock. You know how the boys like that. Yes, I knew I could play it for comic effect (which I did), but I was in a bad mood, and I pretty much stayed there for the rest of the NY visit. I just didn't stop being annoyed with Dad.
Brunch with Frances was a bit of a fiasco as the first place we went was closed and the second place we tried had gone out of business. Eventually, we found a good, open place, after making a complete circle back to where we began and a stop at a liquor store. We sat down to lunch much later than planned and I had to call to delay meeting my friend once again. Maybe he really does have an infinite amount of patience.
Have I built up enough suspense about the date yet? Who was this mysterious man I was meeting in New York City? Another blogger of course! Even better, another blogger who writes about dating. And he's a famous blogger too. Very cool and a little weird. I'm getting to be an old hand at meeting other bloggers, so I wasn't too nervous.
Bob is a funny guy and able to roll with the punches--as evidenced by his reaction to my drunken phone call and the many changes of plan. He thought my name was pronounced "Jam-ee" as in jelly or preserves. He had a funny and incorrect mental image of me. He is a lot more positive than his blog persona. We walked around, talked, I got cold, we stopped for coffee and talked some more. Walking around NY is one of my most favorite things to do and I wish I had dressed more appropriately. I'm glad we met and we will stay in touch. Thanks for the coffee, Bob. (Sorry for the paucity of date details. You should be glad I mentioned it at all. Writing about a date with someone who has read the blog and will read the blog is treacherous ground.)
I was supposed to be home to meet Dad at 4:30 back at the apartment. Bob had an engagement at 3:30. He walked me to the subway and we said goodbye.
I got on the train to go back to the Upper West Side. But I got on the B going to Queens, instead of the B that stayed in Manhattan. I was writing in my journal instead of paying attention, but the occurrence of a 23rd street stop long after we'd passed 23rd street made we wonder where I was. I was in Queens. I got off the train, crossed to the other platform and headed back to Manhattan.
I stuck to my intention of visiting the Town Shop even though I knew it would make me late to meet Dad. I love the Town Shop. I especially love that my grandmother and my mother shopped there. Buying bras as a family tradition. Why not?
Since I was late to meet Dad at the apartment, I went to meet him at our next event instead, which was drinks with another old friend (of Dad's). After we talked for an hour or so, Dad and I headed out on our own for dinner. I was mildly annoyed with him all night, but we didn't argue. Mostly, I was tired. I'd been walking around all day and didn't have a chance to rest. My detour to Queens was only part of the problem.
After dinner, we tried to go to a movie, but every attempt was met with a sold out theater. That's Saturday night in Manhattan. We ended up paying a lot of money to see 15 minutes of a documentary at the "South Asian Film Festival." We were too incredulous to ask for our money back. We went home and watched a movie on t.v. It was the original version of The Four Feathers. It was a beautifully shot and fairly well-acted film and one of the most racist, pro-colonialist bits of propaganda I've ever seen. It was entertaining and horrifying all at the same time.
It ended at midnight and I said, "It's a good thing I don't have Turner Classic Movies at home because I would never sleep again. And I'd have to quit my job so I could watch movies all day." I didn't get to sleep until 2am. No excuse for that. I wasn't even watching movies.
When I woke up on Sunday, all I could think about how I wanted a New York bagel. When I got to the kitchen, there was one waiting for me, courtesy of Dad. Wasn't that sweet? Too bad I was still annoyed at him. He even brought me a cup of Starbucks coffee (brewed--too damn dark!).
We got out to NJ around noon. The kids were fantastic. B1 was happy to see us, as was my sister-in-law, Theda. My favorite moment? I was alone with B1 in the kitchen, Dad was playing Stratego in the dining room with the second niece, Beth. Theda and oldest niece, Stella, were at her soccer game. The baby boy was napping. B1 said, "Are you still blogging?"
Guess he hasn't been reading. "Yes."
"Every day?"
"Yes."
"You never take a break?"
"I don't always post on the weekends. I skip a day occasionally. But it's pretty much every day."
"Wow."
Then he asked about readership. I mentioned how I'd met people through the blog and he was surprised. It is surprising--or is it?
Later, I took a walk with Theda and the girls. I told her what Dad said to me. She was sympathetic without judging Dad. I admire her for that. I love how she thinks I'm young and have plenty of time. She's 43. I told her that my dad should be satisfied with eight grandchildren, that's he's greedy. She said, "I don't think that's what it's about." Maybe not. Maybe he thinks I don't know very much about reproductive biology. Actually, it's one of the only types of biology I know anything about, given that I studied demography in grad school. Maybe I should remind Dad of that the next time (and there will be a next time) he raises this subject.
Later, I remembered that Theda's Dad died when she was 19. Maybe I should shut up and be grateful my dad is still around to give me something to complain about.
Oh, and while there, I realized that I'd completely forgotten B1's birthday. It was about a month ago. He was slightly hurt. What's wrong with me?
The time in NJ was much too short. B1 really needs to invite me to visit more often. (Maybe I'd remember his birthday then?)
The train ride home was uneventful. I read my book instead of writing. How crazy is that?
Now it's back to the grind. I finished unpacking quickly. I stayed home from work today (Monday) feeling slightly ill, but I think mostly emotionally exhausted and sleep deprived. Back to the grind tomorrow.
Grateful for: family.
Sunday, December 11, 2005
Half week in review
Thursday night, in the interests of leaving town the next day, I went out for drinks with Pele and some new blog friends. It was a good time, but the bar was the one where Tim and I watched football games. It's also next door to the bar where I last saw him and it gave me the heebie-jeebies. The chances of seeing him were slim, but they were a lot higher there than almost anywhere else I could go. There were tons of guys at the bar in his same military profession and at least one that looked enough like him that if you saw him out of the corner of your eye, you might think, "Is that Tim?" Pele had just such a thought and told me so. I said, "That guy's been scaring me all night." I stood strategically behind a large post so that I could see who came into the bar and I could hide. I enjoyed the privacy of the post most of the night.
Thus, it was not the most relaxing, carefree evening. I managed to tell a funny story about Tim as though he were in the distant past. But then one friend said, "I don't think he's back with his wife." Another friend agreed. And I felt sick to my stomach. Really sick. Like back when I first met him and would think about how he was separated but not divorced sick. It is super annoying because I haven't been thinking about him. Going to the old haunt brought him to mind, but I could handle that and it was fine. I was fine. But this business about him not being back with his wife. I can't handle that at all. So, dear friends, STOP SAYING THAT. And I promise to never, ever mention him again. Ok, not really, but you know what I mean. I'll tell a funny story, you'll laugh, and then we can talk about something else. Like, the guy who had a kissing "side" or the speed dating thing you want me to sign up for or my trip to New York. Anything else.
On Wednesday, Spesh invited me out for drinks with some friends, but I turned him down, with regrets, because I had to go home, clean up, do laundry, set up my new wireless router and make brownies. (Three out of four accomplished that night.) When I visit my uncle in New York, especially around this time of year, I bring him brownies. He loves them, doesn't bake, and he's very appreciative. Spesh had me on the phone a couple of times on Wednesday. He read from a list of cities in the US where he may apply for a job. "What about Provo, Utah?"
I said, "No."
"Why not?"
"You would not be happy in Utah."
"But it's a real school."
"Maybe, but the only place you could live in Utah is Salt Lake City. Trust me."
"Ok. What about Middletown, Connecticut?"
"I used to live there. That's ok."
"Isn't that the school from the movie with Julia Roberts?"
"What? No. That was Wellesley. Wesleyan is in Middletown. Wellesley was an all girls school."
"Perfect!"
"I think it's co-ed now."
"Too bad."
"But they do sound the same. It's easy to get them confused."
"I think anyplace in Connecticut is ok. It's civilized there." Spesh said.
"I suppose."
This is what it's like on the academic market. Most people apply for dozens of positions. It's possible to apply for hundreds. Spesh already sent the applications for his top picks (I don't know how many--between 25 and 50). Now he's sorting through a list of another hundred openings . He was going to apply to all one hundred, but he decided that it's too much. He's trying to narrow down using a few criteria: geography, quality of school, and likelihood of getting an offer. The likelihood of getting an offer is inversely related to the quality of the school and the desirability of the location. A crap school in a crummy location is most likely to make an offer (unless they think you're too good for them, then they won't waste their time with you). A crap school in a good location is the next most likely. Then a good school in a crap location. A good school in a good location is the least likely, because they can command the top prospects. It's brutally competitive and if you didn't graduate from a top ten school and get a glowing recommendation from your advisor, you are pretty screwed.
"What do you know about St. John's in Queens?"
"I applied for a job there once [only because it was in New York; I didn't have a chance]. It's on Utopia Parkway. "
"It is."
Who wouldn't want to work on Utopia Parkway?
On Tuesday, Ian dropped by again. His visit was very short, and, as usual, it coincided with lunch time. I had just finished eating a sandwich, so the interruption was inconsequential. He wanted to tell me was that he'd had a date on Friday, they had a good time and he saw her again on Sunday. And they're emailing. I said, "Beginner's luck, I guess. That's great."
He shrugged his shoulders, "I don't know. We'll see." He smiled.
"Well, you have to let me know how it works out." Oh, please don't let me know. Please.
"See you later." He smiled and walked away.
I told Pele, "So he's not interested at all. I don't get it." Yes, that's right. I don't like him, but now that he's all happy and dating I'm jealous. I suck.
"He's interested in being interested."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Look, he likes you, but he can't ask you out because of the separated thing. But it's not going to stop him from dating."
"And it shouldn't. And I don't want to date him. Argh."
"Whatever you say."
Indeed.
Grateful for: friends and funny stories.
Thus, it was not the most relaxing, carefree evening. I managed to tell a funny story about Tim as though he were in the distant past. But then one friend said, "I don't think he's back with his wife." Another friend agreed. And I felt sick to my stomach. Really sick. Like back when I first met him and would think about how he was separated but not divorced sick. It is super annoying because I haven't been thinking about him. Going to the old haunt brought him to mind, but I could handle that and it was fine. I was fine. But this business about him not being back with his wife. I can't handle that at all. So, dear friends, STOP SAYING THAT. And I promise to never, ever mention him again. Ok, not really, but you know what I mean. I'll tell a funny story, you'll laugh, and then we can talk about something else. Like, the guy who had a kissing "side" or the speed dating thing you want me to sign up for or my trip to New York. Anything else.
On Wednesday, Spesh invited me out for drinks with some friends, but I turned him down, with regrets, because I had to go home, clean up, do laundry, set up my new wireless router and make brownies. (Three out of four accomplished that night.) When I visit my uncle in New York, especially around this time of year, I bring him brownies. He loves them, doesn't bake, and he's very appreciative. Spesh had me on the phone a couple of times on Wednesday. He read from a list of cities in the US where he may apply for a job. "What about Provo, Utah?"
I said, "No."
"Why not?"
"You would not be happy in Utah."
"But it's a real school."
"Maybe, but the only place you could live in Utah is Salt Lake City. Trust me."
"Ok. What about Middletown, Connecticut?"
"I used to live there. That's ok."
"Isn't that the school from the movie with Julia Roberts?"
"What? No. That was Wellesley. Wesleyan is in Middletown. Wellesley was an all girls school."
"Perfect!"
"I think it's co-ed now."
"Too bad."
"But they do sound the same. It's easy to get them confused."
"I think anyplace in Connecticut is ok. It's civilized there." Spesh said.
"I suppose."
This is what it's like on the academic market. Most people apply for dozens of positions. It's possible to apply for hundreds. Spesh already sent the applications for his top picks (I don't know how many--between 25 and 50). Now he's sorting through a list of another hundred openings . He was going to apply to all one hundred, but he decided that it's too much. He's trying to narrow down using a few criteria: geography, quality of school, and likelihood of getting an offer. The likelihood of getting an offer is inversely related to the quality of the school and the desirability of the location. A crap school in a crummy location is most likely to make an offer (unless they think you're too good for them, then they won't waste their time with you). A crap school in a good location is the next most likely. Then a good school in a crap location. A good school in a good location is the least likely, because they can command the top prospects. It's brutally competitive and if you didn't graduate from a top ten school and get a glowing recommendation from your advisor, you are pretty screwed.
"What do you know about St. John's in Queens?"
"I applied for a job there once [only because it was in New York; I didn't have a chance]. It's on Utopia Parkway. "
"It is."
Who wouldn't want to work on Utopia Parkway?
On Tuesday, Ian dropped by again. His visit was very short, and, as usual, it coincided with lunch time. I had just finished eating a sandwich, so the interruption was inconsequential. He wanted to tell me was that he'd had a date on Friday, they had a good time and he saw her again on Sunday. And they're emailing. I said, "Beginner's luck, I guess. That's great."
He shrugged his shoulders, "I don't know. We'll see." He smiled.
"Well, you have to let me know how it works out." Oh, please don't let me know. Please.
"See you later." He smiled and walked away.
I told Pele, "So he's not interested at all. I don't get it." Yes, that's right. I don't like him, but now that he's all happy and dating I'm jealous. I suck.
"He's interested in being interested."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Look, he likes you, but he can't ask you out because of the separated thing. But it's not going to stop him from dating."
"And it shouldn't. And I don't want to date him. Argh."
"Whatever you say."
Indeed.
Grateful for: friends and funny stories.
Thursday, December 08, 2005
In memoriam
Back in March, I went up to New York for Walter's funeral. Tomorrow, I'm going to New York to join my father at a "celebration" of Walter's life and work. The invitation included one of Walter's "doodles."
According to Dad, Walter would sit through meetings drawing quietly. Then, at the right moment, he would say just the perfect thing. While working on his intricate and hypnotizing designs, Walter was paying attention to everything everyone said.
Walter Thabit, 1922-2005
Grateful for: Walter.
P.S. Posting may not resume until Monday. Have a great weekend everyone.
According to Dad, Walter would sit through meetings drawing quietly. Then, at the right moment, he would say just the perfect thing. While working on his intricate and hypnotizing designs, Walter was paying attention to everything everyone said.
Grateful for: Walter.
P.S. Posting may not resume until Monday. Have a great weekend everyone.
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
And the winner is…
Actually, there are two winners, a runner-up and an honorable mention.
The honorable mention goes to Sethro. I love his answer because I never would have gone there:
I find it hilarious that it was only while listing those films that I realized that there was a darn good reason why I liked them. I almost included The Sound of Music because I was obsessed with it as a child and it totally fits. As most of you know, my parents had an unhappy marriage and were divorced when I was little. And then reconciled. And then divorced. I have two half-brothers from my dad's first marriage and two stepsisters from my dad's third (current and final) marriage. I have had problems getting along with both parents, I used to hate my stepmother, and I hated one of my stepsisters for years. I've always wanted to be closer to my brothers. I've never felt fully accepted by my eldest brother. My family is unhappy in it's own special way, though these days we are pretty mellow and there is not much fighting or angst. I don't hate anyone anymore and I'm only occasionally annoyed at my eldest brother. Maybe we're just too old and tired for that stuff. I mean, when the baby (me) is in her mid-30's it's probably time everyone started growing up. But, the appeal of these films, and similar tv shows, is that somehow these wacky blended families make it work. The are meant to be together, they find happiness and the kids all love each other. Or, in the case of The Parent Trap it was all a big misunderstanding and true love conquers all. And I always wanted a twin sister.
Grateful for: the fantasy.
The honorable mention goes to Sethro. I love his answer because I never would have gone there:
The respective stars of the movies were all headliners in their own television shows...The runner-up is Pele, who was defeated by insider knowledge:
Doris Day (With Six You Get Eggroll): The Doris Day Show
Bruce Willis (Look Who's Talking): Moonlighting
Kirstie Alley (Look Who's Talking): Cheers
Lucille Ball (Yours, Mine, and Ours): I Love Lucy
uh...Brian Keith (The Parent Trap): Hardcastle and McCormick
I agree with the single parent theme. But I also know that your favorite family is the Addams Family. And that one doesn't fit - they are, however, dysfunctional.KJ, self-described "long time lurker," not to be confused with regular commenter and friend KJ, got the right answer and is the co-winner:
Everyone becomes one big happy family in the end, with parents getting together/back together.Jo wins too. She had the first comment and hit the nail on the head:
My guess is that the theme has something to do with children from single parent homes and how their parents get hooked up. Cuz all of them are like that except for Cheaper, which you only thought was "ok".Only Pele lives close enough to go to the movie and she has refused to accompany me. The other winners live far away. However if Sethro, Jo or KJ come to DC, I will take you to the movie of my choice. It probably won't be Yours, Mine and Ours since I can't imagine it will be in theaters much longer, but I'm sure I can come up with something equally horrific.
I find it hilarious that it was only while listing those films that I realized that there was a darn good reason why I liked them. I almost included The Sound of Music because I was obsessed with it as a child and it totally fits. As most of you know, my parents had an unhappy marriage and were divorced when I was little. And then reconciled. And then divorced. I have two half-brothers from my dad's first marriage and two stepsisters from my dad's third (current and final) marriage. I have had problems getting along with both parents, I used to hate my stepmother, and I hated one of my stepsisters for years. I've always wanted to be closer to my brothers. I've never felt fully accepted by my eldest brother. My family is unhappy in it's own special way, though these days we are pretty mellow and there is not much fighting or angst. I don't hate anyone anymore and I'm only occasionally annoyed at my eldest brother. Maybe we're just too old and tired for that stuff. I mean, when the baby (me) is in her mid-30's it's probably time everyone started growing up. But, the appeal of these films, and similar tv shows, is that somehow these wacky blended families make it work. The are meant to be together, they find happiness and the kids all love each other. Or, in the case of The Parent Trap it was all a big misunderstanding and true love conquers all. And I always wanted a twin sister.
Grateful for: the fantasy.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
Manipulation
I learned that I could be manipulative when I was 17. I was involved with David and I manipulated him by being 100% honest. Given his neediness, my honesty was guaranteed to get him to do what I wanted. I didn't get it for long and it wasn't satisfying, but that doesn't change what I did.
I was spending a lot of time with David. I'd kissed him a couple of times, which was huge for me. In fact, he was the first boy I kissed after getting my braces removed. I hated wearing braces. There is only one picture of me where you can see them. In the other pictures taken during the two years I wore braces, I smiled with my mouth closed.
I knew that the something going on between David and me couldn't be sustained. I knew he wasn't available, but I didn't want to let him go. I went to his dorm room on a Saturday morning. It was bright and white in his room.
David said, "It's different with you."
I said, "You don't know what you want."
He said, "I never thought that we were going out."
I agreed.
D: Do you consider that we're good friends?
J: Yes. [Silence.] So, so…I know it would be easier for you to just be friends but I really don't want that. I mean, now it's something.
D: But I just don't want to hurt you.
J: Well, I'm going to get hurt no matter what--that's the truth. If you decide that you really want to just be friends, then it's ok. I'll be angry at you, maybe hate you for a while--but then we'll be friends.
D: But I don't want you to hate me. Why can't we be friends?
J: It's not just you--It would just happen--I'm only being honest. Sorry.
D: So you want it to be something?
J: Yes.
D: Do you want to be going out?
J: No. I mean, that's what I would want if you weren't leaving [He was moving to California in a few weeks.] Now I just want something.
I offered to let him keep me in the grey zone--neither friend nor girlfriend, but something in between. It's not what I wanted. I wanted him to be my boyfriend, but I was willing to settle on being more than friends. It was something.
I walked away and I knew I'd done wrong. David couldn't stand the thought of being hated. He would do anything to be liked, including agreeing to something that would make both of us unhappy. It certainly didn't do me any good.
When I was a teenager I valued being "open and honest" above everything. I was adamantly against manipulation. I still am. But telling the truth can be just as manipulative as being honest. When I told David that I might hate him if he broke up with me, it was true, but I shouldn't have said it. It was a way to get what I wanted.
I still didn't get anything close to what I wanted. Our "something" didn't last more than a week. Not even until he left town. And I was just as miserable as before. Plus, I felt guilty because I'd manipulated him.
My recent encounter with Tim brought this story to mind. Tim said things he shouldn't have said. When I asked him why he was telling me those things, his response was, "I'm just being honest." And I remembered saying "I'm only being honest" to David, almost twenty years earlier.
I doubt Tim was intentionally manipulative, but he would have felt better if he had someone waiting for him at the other end of his divorce (if he ever gets one). He also probably wanted to make me feel better about what happened between us. He may even have felt that, in some way, he betrayed me. The things he said implied that he would not reconcile with his wife and that he missed me. I was not blinded by his words. His words didn't change a thing.
Grateful for: knowing manipulation when I see it.
I was spending a lot of time with David. I'd kissed him a couple of times, which was huge for me. In fact, he was the first boy I kissed after getting my braces removed. I hated wearing braces. There is only one picture of me where you can see them. In the other pictures taken during the two years I wore braces, I smiled with my mouth closed.
I knew that the something going on between David and me couldn't be sustained. I knew he wasn't available, but I didn't want to let him go. I went to his dorm room on a Saturday morning. It was bright and white in his room.
David said, "It's different with you."
I said, "You don't know what you want."
He said, "I never thought that we were going out."
I agreed.
D: Do you consider that we're good friends?
J: Yes. [Silence.] So, so…I know it would be easier for you to just be friends but I really don't want that. I mean, now it's something.
D: But I just don't want to hurt you.
J: Well, I'm going to get hurt no matter what--that's the truth. If you decide that you really want to just be friends, then it's ok. I'll be angry at you, maybe hate you for a while--but then we'll be friends.
D: But I don't want you to hate me. Why can't we be friends?
J: It's not just you--It would just happen--I'm only being honest. Sorry.
D: So you want it to be something?
J: Yes.
D: Do you want to be going out?
J: No. I mean, that's what I would want if you weren't leaving [He was moving to California in a few weeks.] Now I just want something.
I offered to let him keep me in the grey zone--neither friend nor girlfriend, but something in between. It's not what I wanted. I wanted him to be my boyfriend, but I was willing to settle on being more than friends. It was something.
I walked away and I knew I'd done wrong. David couldn't stand the thought of being hated. He would do anything to be liked, including agreeing to something that would make both of us unhappy. It certainly didn't do me any good.
When I was a teenager I valued being "open and honest" above everything. I was adamantly against manipulation. I still am. But telling the truth can be just as manipulative as being honest. When I told David that I might hate him if he broke up with me, it was true, but I shouldn't have said it. It was a way to get what I wanted.
I still didn't get anything close to what I wanted. Our "something" didn't last more than a week. Not even until he left town. And I was just as miserable as before. Plus, I felt guilty because I'd manipulated him.
My recent encounter with Tim brought this story to mind. Tim said things he shouldn't have said. When I asked him why he was telling me those things, his response was, "I'm just being honest." And I remembered saying "I'm only being honest" to David, almost twenty years earlier.
I doubt Tim was intentionally manipulative, but he would have felt better if he had someone waiting for him at the other end of his divorce (if he ever gets one). He also probably wanted to make me feel better about what happened between us. He may even have felt that, in some way, he betrayed me. The things he said implied that he would not reconcile with his wife and that he missed me. I was not blinded by his words. His words didn't change a thing.
Grateful for: knowing manipulation when I see it.
Monday, December 05, 2005
Do I know you?
Note: lack of a coherent post can be blamed on...well, nothing really. I'm just not coherent today.
This bumping into people I know thing is becoming a trend.
First, there was the singles event fiasco.
Then, on Friday night, at the poetry reading I went to with Spesh, I spotted Victor (of "kissing styles" fame) sitting one row in front of me. He did not see me. Later on, I bumped into him on his way out of the building and I said hello. He couldn't get away from me fast enough. You would have thought I was on fire.
Last, on Sunday, while at brunch with some fellow bloggers (more on that below), I saw Michael, another fellow blogger! (He reviews at DCFUD, not that other food site I mentioned.) I love Michael; it's too bad he couldn't stay and chat.
Even one of the biggest cities in the country can start to feel like a small town if you stick around long enough.
More on brunch. I met Chase, Miss Penny Lane, The Chef, and I-66 (I'd met him before at the blogger happy hour, but this time I actually managed to get his name) for brunch on Sunday. Many were invited, but only the few, the proud, and the well-rested managed to attend. (I was not in charge of invitations.) I went to book group first (loved the book) and was running late, but they were just sitting down when I got to Asylum. The talk was easy, the laughter hearty and the food decent.
Turns out MPL and I went to the same summer camp in Indiana. She loved it, I hated it. Go figure. We were not there at the same time and she is in no way responsible for my terrible experiences.
As many others have remarked, meeting other bloggers is a totally unexpected and absolutely wonderful side-benefit of blogging. I can't remember meeting this many new people in years. And I even like some of them! And I hate everyone!
On a completely different note, I'm afraid there may be something seriously wrong with me because I want to see Yours, Mine and Ours. It has to be bad, doesn't it? Probably full of toilet humor and poorly executed slapstick. Maybe I want to see it because I have a soft spot for the original, which starred Henry Fonda and Lucille Ball. I don't know if my friends realize that I like family-themed films. My mom knows and she doesn't understand. But how can you not like With Six You Get Eggroll, The Parent Trap, or Look Who's Talking? These aren't necessarily good movies, nor are they movies I would put on my Netflix© cue, but if any of them come on TV, I can't turn them off. I sit there and watch to the bitter end each and every time. I'm afraid not even the little sister (not my actual sister) may be willing to sit through this one with me. Well, if I have to go alone, I will. You know what they say: the heart wants what the heart wants. My heart wants to see Dennis Quaid and a million little kids running around. (Oddly, I do not find the remake of Cheaper by the Dozen appealing in the least. The original was ok.)
Actually, looking at the list of the ones I like, I see a theme. That gives me an idea.
How about a contest? The first person who can guess the theme will go as my guest to see Yours, Mine and Ours. Put your guess in the comments. If you don't want to see the movie or live far away, you will have to accept the glory of guessing correctly as your prize. Winners announced tomorrow. (Note: "Cheaper by the Dozen" should not be considered; it does not share the theme.)
UPDATE: Since blogger was down most of Monday night, the contest will run all day Tuesday and I'll annouce a winner on Wednesday.
Grateful for: the bad movies I like.
This bumping into people I know thing is becoming a trend.
First, there was the singles event fiasco.
Then, on Friday night, at the poetry reading I went to with Spesh, I spotted Victor (of "kissing styles" fame) sitting one row in front of me. He did not see me. Later on, I bumped into him on his way out of the building and I said hello. He couldn't get away from me fast enough. You would have thought I was on fire.
Last, on Sunday, while at brunch with some fellow bloggers (more on that below), I saw Michael, another fellow blogger! (He reviews at DCFUD, not that other food site I mentioned.) I love Michael; it's too bad he couldn't stay and chat.
Even one of the biggest cities in the country can start to feel like a small town if you stick around long enough.
More on brunch. I met Chase, Miss Penny Lane, The Chef, and I-66 (I'd met him before at the blogger happy hour, but this time I actually managed to get his name) for brunch on Sunday. Many were invited, but only the few, the proud, and the well-rested managed to attend. (I was not in charge of invitations.) I went to book group first (loved the book) and was running late, but they were just sitting down when I got to Asylum. The talk was easy, the laughter hearty and the food decent.
Turns out MPL and I went to the same summer camp in Indiana. She loved it, I hated it. Go figure. We were not there at the same time and she is in no way responsible for my terrible experiences.
As many others have remarked, meeting other bloggers is a totally unexpected and absolutely wonderful side-benefit of blogging. I can't remember meeting this many new people in years. And I even like some of them! And I hate everyone!
On a completely different note, I'm afraid there may be something seriously wrong with me because I want to see Yours, Mine and Ours. It has to be bad, doesn't it? Probably full of toilet humor and poorly executed slapstick. Maybe I want to see it because I have a soft spot for the original, which starred Henry Fonda and Lucille Ball. I don't know if my friends realize that I like family-themed films. My mom knows and she doesn't understand. But how can you not like With Six You Get Eggroll, The Parent Trap, or Look Who's Talking? These aren't necessarily good movies, nor are they movies I would put on my Netflix© cue, but if any of them come on TV, I can't turn them off. I sit there and watch to the bitter end each and every time. I'm afraid not even the little sister (not my actual sister) may be willing to sit through this one with me. Well, if I have to go alone, I will. You know what they say: the heart wants what the heart wants. My heart wants to see Dennis Quaid and a million little kids running around. (Oddly, I do not find the remake of Cheaper by the Dozen appealing in the least. The original was ok.)
Actually, looking at the list of the ones I like, I see a theme. That gives me an idea.
How about a contest? The first person who can guess the theme will go as my guest to see Yours, Mine and Ours. Put your guess in the comments. If you don't want to see the movie or live far away, you will have to accept the glory of guessing correctly as your prize. Winners announced tomorrow. (Note: "Cheaper by the Dozen" should not be considered; it does not share the theme.)
UPDATE: Since blogger was down most of Monday night, the contest will run all day Tuesday and I'll annouce a winner on Wednesday.
Grateful for: the bad movies I like.
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