Weekend update

On Saturday, I was very efficient. I got up rather earlier than I would have liked because Tabitha (the cat) woke me at 3:45am. What the hell was she thinking? I had to shut her in the bathroom so I could get some sleep. Still, I was up before 8am.

In the morning, I tidied the house, folded some laundry and ate breakfast. At 12:30 I walked myself to the neighborhood yoga studio for a free "Yoga Week" class. It was ok, but irritated my sore right wrist and shoulder.

I stopped by the library on the way home in search of the book group book, but it was not to be found. I also picked up my dry cleaning.

Once home, I had a light lunch and roused myself to drive to Baltimore to meet a friend for the Orioles-Mariners game. (The Mariners and my brother (the one from Israel--he's in Baltimore a couple of times a year for business) are the two things that will get me to Baltimore reliably.) I got going about 15 minutes later than planned, but still in plenty of time. When I went out the back way, this is what I saw:


I turned around and went back into the house to get my camera. I also got some food for Mom, because she was out there too--hanging out underneath our gas grill, where the kitten retreated when I approached.


There were actually two kittens (I used the flash so the colors are completely different).


The grey and white "mommy" has been hanging around our back yard all winter along with a black long hair (daddy?). I saw both of those adult cats today, but not hide nor hair of the kittens.

I was over an hour late to the ballpark, but it was because of horrendous traffic on the Parkway. It was slow enough that I was able to take this pic:


The game was good fun and I enjoyed seeing my long lost grad school acquaintance, Nancy. She is funny and kind, but I can only hear about half of what she says because she speaks so softly. Ah well. It was good to have good company. You never have the best conversations at the ball park anyway.

The good news: Mariners won!

For today, I had big plans. I was going to get up early, go for coffee, drop in on the "Save Darfur" rally and then make the second game of the ultimate frisbee double header.

Well, I did go for coffee, rather later than planned. When I got home, I was so exhausted, I could barely move and I crossed my two other plans off the list (sorry Travis). I did manage to nap, mop the kitchen floor and cook some dinner. I MUST go to sleep early tonight so I can get in a full day's work and a full evening's rowing practice on Monday.

And if the Kyle moratorium is ever lifted, there is an even funnier story to tell. We did talk on the phone, very briefly, but since we haven't met, I'm not going into detail yet. The fact that this mini-non-saga is still going on amazes me.

Grateful for: a decent weekend.
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Good decisions

How many good decisions have I made?

I don't mean things that ended up being good decisions. I mean active choices. Sometimes it's more important to make a decision than what that decision is. Sitting on a dilemma and not moving is a bad place to live. As I like to say, sometimes any decision is a good decision.

I don't know if going to grad school was a good decision—but once I decided to apply, it gave my life focus and direction. I took the GRE, I took a couple of night classes (demography and stats). I interviewed people in my future discipline. The decision to leave Seattle, though, inevitably ended the best romantic relationship of my life (so far).

Joining the rowing team in grad school was a great decision. It would seem to be one of the dumber things I've ever done, but I have zero regrets. It insured that what I got from grad school was only partially a function of my course load.

Starting to row again is definitely a good decision. We'll see if I keep it up, but even if I don't, reconnecting with the sport has put me in a great (if tired) mood.

My thesis and dissertation topics were good decisions. MA: racial differentials in US infant mortality. PhD: how does living in public housing affect working for pay? Even though the topics are completely unrelated, I still find both of them fascinating. I lived with the thesis topic for over a year and never got bored with it. I lived with the dissertation topic for more than five and I'm still interested. If I had the motivation to turn the conference papers from the dissertation into journal articles, I could live with it for many more years. (I still like the topic, but I find the mechanics of doing the writing and analysis tiresome and I can't get motivated to do the work.)

Changing advisors in grad school was a very good decision and extremely difficult to do. So many politics. I am convinced that I never would have finished if I'd stayed with my original advisor (who thought I was stupid). The woman who accepted me as her student was one of the kindest, most thoughtful people I've ever had the privilege to know. Even after I moved to DC, with a defended (but not accepted!) dissertation proposal, she never questioned my commitment to finishing. I never got one whiff of doubt from her. And, she was sick with her third round of cancer for about half of our time together. It killed her not long after I graduated. I am very grateful to have had the chance to work with her.

I wonder if I should add something like "breaking up with Tom" (my important grad school boyfriend) to the list, but it's a negative, and it wasn't completely my choice. It's hard to prove that the absence of something is good because what is the comparison? How can you say if you were better off doing or not doing something? Is life without Tom better than life with Tom? Well, it's certainly different. I'd like to think I'm better off without him, but how can I know?

I can imagine my life without rowing because I know all the things I learned from it that I wouldn't have gotten any other way. I can imagine how I would have felt if I'd hated my dissertation topic; I probably never would have finished. But I can't imagine if I'd chosen some of the things I didn't choose.

This is why social scientists like random-assignment controlled experiments. You may observe what happens to one group of people under "business as usual" conditions and compare them to a similar group of people who receive some sort of intervention. Then you can draw inferences about what would happen to similar people under different circumstances.

I am also deciding, on an every-other-day basis, NOT to call Tom. He's been on my mind lately, perhaps because I associate him with rowing and also because I feel the need for some reassurance. (Why is it that this reassurance must come from someone who, not only finds you attractive, but who you find attractive?) Over the last several years, I've convinced myself that it's ok to call him and keep in arms-length contact with him. But I've changed my mind. As much as I enjoy speaking to him and as much as it soothes me to know I could have him if I wanted to (but I couldn't really, now could I?), I'm deciding not to call him and weather the emotions life rains down on me on my own. Well, it's not really on my own. I'll do it with the support of my real-life friends and my internet friends and trust that this will be a very good decision.

Sometimes I think I'm too passive in my approach to life. That I let things happen. I was not very aggressive when I searched for jobs, I didn't try that hard in my classes, and sometimes I succumb to pursuit. But when I get a hold of something I want, I don't let go. I'm not really sure what that is. I guess I just have to trust myself to know which decisions are worth the trouble.

P.S. I wrote the original version of this post back in January and it was rather more heavy with musings about relationships and what-might-have-beens. I find myself not thinking about my past relationships very much these days, with the exception of the most recent ex-boyfriend. And even those thoughts are fleeting. As you know, most of my head space for the last couple of weeks has been taken up by rowing. I must say, it's a refreshing change.

Grateful for: trusting myself to make good decisions.
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I love to row

I don't remember feeling this way.

You'd think, the way I've been raving about it, that it was obvious that I love rowing.

But my memories of rowing aren't exactly happy. I remember feeling tired for about a year. I remember feeling determined. I remember the adrenaline rush of racing and the frustrating last semester with my first coach. I remember being the last one in from the run every time for a year. I remember having one or two friends, if that, on the team. I remember the shy pride I felt when one of the coaches told me I was tough.

But joy? Happiness? They don't quite fit. I was always ready for practice to be over; I always dreaded it a bit. I always felt frustrated--either with myself or with the rest of the boat.

Last night, I rowed like crap. I've forgotten tons about technique, my timing was terrible and I had no compression. And how did I feel?

Happy. Really happy.

I wanted to row more. I wanted to go faster. I wanted practice to last longer. When our coach said, "I thought we'd have time for one more piece, but we don't. Take it in to the dock."

I thought, "I was hoping we'd have time for one more piece too."

Really? I thought that? I can't tell you how unlike me it feels to have had that thought.

But the whole thing was great. Being on the water was fantastic. The conditions were lousy. It was windy, we hit rough water and got splashed all over the place. The guy behind me kept chatting--there should be no talking in the boat, and I prefer it that way--but I didn't care.

I got my port seat and, as predicted, I was in 2—making me part of bow pair. Port felt so much better than starboard. Fantastic. I need to stay on port side. My right hand still bugs me, but not as much. The whole motion felt better, smoother, and more comfortable on port. It's what my body remembers.

My back was sore, again. This time it was the lower back, which means I'm doing something right, because my back always bugged me a tad when I was rowing. I did my little PT (physical therapy) back exercises the whole time I rowed at UNC. It's time to start again--I did them tonight when I got home, along with the stretching. I may have to start icing down my knees, though they don't hurt. I used to have to do that after every practice as well. I forgot how rucked up my body got from rowing. At the end of my first year, I was a big mass of overuse injuries.

I'm achy, exhausted and I can't wait to go back tomorrow.

Who knew?

P.S. This morning, I wasn't sore at all, except for a twinge in my right shoulder (that's from the biking/rowing combo). However, my quads were tired because I felt them complain on my very easy bike ride to work. That means I'm doing something right.

Grateful for: finally enjoying rowing.
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Billiards

Things I managed to tell to a complete stranger upon first acquaintance:

• My last boyfriend was separated-but-not-divorced and we broke up when he decided to reconcile with his wife.

• I didn't go to high school (or, as I think I'll start saying, I skipped the minors and went straight to the show).

• I can't remember the rest, but I'm sure I said other equally inappropriate things.

I was going to write more about my rowing career, but why do that when I can relate an amusing dating-related story? I think I could write a book about my rowing years at UNC. Maybe I will. Would anyone read it? It's so hard to tell what folks would find interesting. Any thoughts?

Last night, I went to another City Paper singles thing, this time with Pele in tow. The event was held at a semi-upscale pool place in Arlington. We decided to go a couple of weeks ago, so it took priority over rowing.

We had a heck of a time finding the place since the entrance did not front on the street for which the address was given. Once inside, we were surrounded by very unhappy looking people who seemed to be thinking, "I think I should be here, but I don't really want to be here. But, look, here I am."

Before we got in I told Pele, "I'm going to ignore you when we get there, so don't be offended. You find a place to sit at the bar and I'll walk around."

That's exactly what we did. I claimed a bar stool and Pele got some free snacks. I ordered a beer. She came to the bar, took the seat and I circulated. We both spotted two cute guys sitting at the end of the bar—one reading every single word of the City Paper (we never spoke to him); the other relentlessly text messaging. (They did not appear to be friends.) Pele tried to make eye contact with them and I got up and roamed around. Eventually, I was invited by a CP staffer to join a pool game.

When Pele tired of sitting alone at the bar, she came to the pool table where I was playing. Our group of pool players was most objectionable. There was an eager not unattractive guy with the name of a popular video game system. What the? Another guy was all together too tucked in for my taste—and apparently balding, though I didn't notice.

I noticed a spot had opened up at the bar next to the text-messaging guy. I wanted another beer, so I went and sat right next to him. No luck. In fact, as soon as I got my beer, he left. I thought, "I drove him away. Damn." I went back to the extremely unsatisfactory pool game.

Then Pele needed another glass of wine. (You girls and your wine.) Text message guy was back at the bar, in a different spot. I said, "Go over there and sit next to him."

And guess what? She did! And they actually talked to each other. Ten minutes later, she brought him back to the pool table. In a classic aside moment, she said, "He's all yours. I can't do anything with him."

See, the guy, Kevin, was very shy. VERY shy. And Pele is shy about meeting new people. It was hard work for her to get him talking. But once he came over to the pool table, he loosened up a bit. We played together; Pele was paired with a crazy old guy, who knew very well that he was not an appropriate match for her (so he wasn't that crazy). Kevin and I won. I made the eight-ball shot. I am terrible at pool, but after two beers I am slightly better than after none.

After the free pool ended, the three of us hung around and chatted for another half an hour. I liked Kevin, though I wouldn't say I was interested. In an aside to Pele, I said, "There is one small problem in this scenario [pairing me up with Kevin]..." She said, "That he's barely 22?" I said, "Yes, that would be the problem. But what do I care? I'm not prejudiced."

It turned out he was 28ish. Still young for me, but certainly acceptable for Pele. Though she's not sure if she likes him either. Why not? He was tall, dark and handsome. Funny, a little glib (by his own admission) and sweet (underneath it all).

Kevin and I walked Pele to her car and she drove us back to the metro. He asked for Pele's number and I programmed it into his phone. That was highly amusing. (It seemed that he was interested in Pele, but he flirted a little with each of us.)

Kevin and I took the metro together and he offered to drive me home. He lives in Bethesda. I said, "Um, no. I live near Union Station. You are not driving me home. It would cost you more than an hour."

"But, I don't want you to have to walk…at night…"

I said, "No, I won't walk. I'll take a cab or the bus. The bus goes right by my house."

"But I..."

"I really appreciate the thought. It's not that I don't want a ride home. It just doesn't make any sense."

We got off at metro center and went our separate ways. I called Pele and we decided that our plan to separate worked well. We were mighty impressed that we managed, between the two of us, to pick up one guy—we have never done this before. When we go for a drink, we never, ever talk to other people. I told Pele that there was no reason the three of us couldn't hang out if she winds up not being interested in him.

Hey, if she turns him down, maybe I'll take my shot. You never know.

Grateful for: courage.

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It's good to be back

I can never figure out if I'm more productive if I do my post first thing in the morning or wait until the afternoon. If I do it first thing, I can fiddle with it all day, tweaking, editing, etc. If I do it last thing, I spend less time on it and free up more time for actual paid work. But if I do it last thing, I spend all day thinking about it and sometimes have to skip the gym or end up being late to whatever has to happen after work. Or, I skip important work things because I MUST publish before I leave the office.

Oh, wait, I don't blog at work.

Of course I do. And I will be doing it even more often because if I keep up with rowing, I will be too tired when I get home to think coherently enough to write a post. Speaking of which...

Rowing was great.

I mean, it wasn't really great. The people were not very friendly. The coach was late. I didn't get on the water for a long time because I, and another new woman, had to watch a safety video. After the video, we got switched into the boat—the coach picked us up in the launch (small motor boat) and two rowers got out of the shell and we crawled in and she took them back to the dock. Because I'm short (for a rower), they stuck me in the bow. I hate bow.

In a rowing shell, where everything is backwards, being in the bow feels like the back of the boat. You are the furthest person from the coxswain. But that's not why I hate bow. I hate it because the boat tapers at the bow, making it the narrowest seat (the coxswain's seat, in the stern, is equally narrow--but the coxswain doesn't slide around). Even at my smallest, my hips rubbed against the gunnels (the sides of the boat). (Remember, the seat slides in rowing.) And there are always interior ribs in the gunnels to bump against. Sitting in bow hurts and causes me odd bruises. But I've always gutted it out.

The other problem is that bow is a starboard seat and for the majority of my rowing career, I rowed port. I prefer port. I have a slight overuse/soreness problem with my right forearm/wrist (tendonitis? carpal tunnel?) and it's easier for me to row port (as I was reminded last night). When you row starboard, the right arm is the "pulling" arm; it's the left arm when you row port. Plus, you never have to sit in bow if you row port.

But, I can hang with bow. For my first year, or at least my first semester, at UNC, I was in bow. Bow is a technique seat and I had more experience than the other novices. You need to be steady in bow and I can do that, even if I'm not comfortable. I will try not to complain to the coach, but I'm going to do my damndest to get out of bow. However, I was not surprised that it's where I ended up.

Other than that, 2-seat (the person sitting directly in front of me; bow is 1--yes, I am number one!) splashed me but good. I was rather stinky when I got home because we were rowing on the Anacostia. Don't fret—I took a shower.

It was also a good thing I brought my bike light because it was dark when I rode home from the boathouse. I would have benefited from a jacket as well, but I didn't get too chilly.

I got more exercise from biking yesterday than rowing. My loop, home-work-boathouse-home, was about 7 miles. I only rowed for less than 30 minutes. I was beat when I got home, but it was the good kind of tired. I didn't want to go to bed, but when I finally did at 12:30, I slept straight through.

As predicted, my legs are not sore today, but my right shoulder/arm are a little achy. And I can feel it in my back, which means I wasn't doing things quite right.

I'm looking forward to rowing a full practice, perhaps in 2 seat, and getting little coaching on Wednesday.

Like I said, rowing was great.

Grateful for: a plan.
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Me again!

IMG_0954 Originally uploaded by Smooglie.

Someone (not me) needs to learn how to do the redeye correction. Geez.

Not sure how long I'll keep these up, but enjoy them while they last.

Both this pic and the one below were taken on Saturday night.

That's me on the right

2006-04-22 Sam Party 004
Originally uploaded by Silverlyn.

Nothing to see here

After the comment fest on the last post, I'm starting to feel sorry for Kyle. Poor guy—he didn't know that his every word was going to be dissected by internet strangers.

I didn't mention this, but last week when he told me he'd been on a date and I gave him a hard time about it, he explained that the date was with someone he'd already met and had been long planned. Also, he has a work schedule that makes it hard to meet during the week, so he hadn't attempted to schedule anything with me. To that I say, real life people should always trump internet strangers. He still probably shouldn't have mentioned the date to me, but that just shows that he's not smooth. And I like not smooth.

And what's this business about rejecting poor Kyle? There is no rejecting because there has been no accepting! Has he acted perfectly? No. Have I? No. He didn't follow through on making plans. I jumped to the conclusion that he'd moved on because he didn't follow through.

You might argue that our inability to communicate this early on in the game is a "bad sign."

Of course it is. But until we actually talk or meet, I don't see it as a particularly illuminating sign.

Then again, I haven't heard from him since yesterday, so that may have been the end of that. I have no interest in continuing to prompt him.

Boring. In fact, this whole non-saga is so boring I can barely stand to write it. I can't believe how much space I've devoted to someone I may NEVER MEET.

I declare a moratorium on all things Kyle until after we meet. If I ever do meet him, I promise to tell you about it.

Moving along…

I was a little grateful that my ultimate frisbee doubleheader was rained out on Sunday. But I was a little sad because I would have liked to play one game—but I was rather dreading playing two.

Instead, while I spent most of yesterday lazing around the house, I did work in the yard for a good long time, weeding our tiny jungle. I haven't even bothered to tell the condo-mates that I did the work. Whatever. It looks a little better out there, but I hope I didn't kill the ornamental tree I pruned (I had to, it was blocking our gate). Anyway, I'm a touch sore, so I count it as an official work out.

And, in just about an hour, I'll head out to row for the first time in many years. I'm nervous and excited. I hope it works out. If it does, this blog will get very boring because I will probably never date again.* And I REALLY won't care.

*No, I don't actually think that. My blog could never be boring.

Grateful for: first day jitters.
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Can you hear me now?

A pet peeve of mine is the opaque post. If you are going to write, let me know what the hell you're talking about--don't make me guess.

Another peeve? This business about whether or not you should let your (new) significant other know about your blog and playing the "it's my diary" card as a reason not to tell him.

For a few, very few, of you, your blog is anonymous. Your friends and family don't know about it and you don't tell them. You don't meet other bloggers. No one knows who you are. If that is the case, you have my permission to keep your blog from yourboyfriend/girlfriend.

But many of my friends know about my "diary." I told some of them and then they told others. That's fine. Then, I went and introduced myself to other bloggers, so they know me now, even if they don't read. Fine. And I told my brother. But he's not reading, right? Then I told my mother. And she found it, but she's not supposed to read. Fine.

The upshot? The whole frickin' world knows about my blog. Fine. That's what I wanted. I want my writing to be read. That's why I'm posting the details of my life on the INTERNET and not scribbling happily in my paper journal.

What is my policy about telling boyfriend candidates about the blog? As soon as I think the guy is going to stick around, I will tell him. I HAVE to tell. It's just not fair, considering that my friends, who he will meet (awkwardness!!!), have read all about him. Making that decision inevitably will affect what I write. What can do you?

The problem I keep bumping into is that the stories I'm good at writing, the feelings I enjoy expounding upon, must occasionally be made opaque. I can't directly discuss such things on the blog because you never know who is reading.

Sigh.

On to funny boy stories!!

Last night, I went to a party with CK. It was in Sterling, Virginia. On the drive back to my car, I said, "I am done with Sterling this year." I actually went to a party in Sterling a month or so ago. I wanted to write about it, but it was right before I went to Israel and I didn't have time. Let me just say this: it was not fun. I spent most of the evening talking to a woman about her new cat. My favorite moment might have been when a fellow asked about the fruit salad I made, "It's really good. What kind of cheese is that in the salad?" I answered, "Cottage cheese." I mean, it wasn't some mystery secret cheese. Just plain old cottage cheese. It was small curd, though, maybe that threw him.

Last night, something similar happened. The party was full of swing dancers, but I spent most of the evening talking to a cool young woman, Dani, who did not dance. We were corned by a couple of friendly African guys who, without many preliminaries, insisted on getting our phone numbers. We both consented and regretted it. I expect a call and an invite to H2O this week. Not looking forward to that. (The guys were fine, but we didn't talk to them much before they insisted on getting our numbers. I didn't like the vibe.)

Later, we hid upstairs, where we were joined by CK and Dani's dancing friend, Kurt. Not her boyfriend, mind you. We read the questions off of Scruples cards and had a good time laughing at our disparate answers. CK declared that I was the conscience of the group. Well, it's not like I haven't been there before.

Would you like another funny story about a boy? Perhaps, you would like to know what the hell is going on with Kyle (the internet guy I've been emailing with for a couple of weeks)? I would like to know that too.

We had an email exchange on Wednesday that lead me to believe that we would get together on Saturday.

Here is part of the exchange:

Jamy: If you wanted to get together, Friday evening is free and maybe Saturday afternoon is too, for coffee. I'll even be in [your area] if that makes it easier.

Kyle: I would very much like to meet you. What time do you think you'll be in [my area] Saturday afternoon?

Jamy: [Bunch of unnecessary details about my schedule, errands, etc.] I can meet you any time after 11am somewhere in [your area], I just have to be back in DC by 6pm. We can have coffee or whatever. I'm flexible.

Friday night rolled around and I still hadn't heard from him. I can't say I was upset--that would have been an overreaction--but I was annoyed. I got another offer for Saturday afternoon, and I promptly accepted.

Saturday was spent picking up the new red chairs, doing a tiny grocery shop, meeting a friend for lunch and dropping by a museum (about damn time). When I got home, I had a quick dinner and a little relaxing before heading to goddamn Sterling.

I did manage to send Kyle one last email:

Since I haven't heard from you, I have to assume that you don't want to get together. I'm disappointed that it didn't work out; I was looking forward to meeting you.

Best of luck.

You may say I was too easy on him, but I was going for the guilt and I wasn't keen on letting him completely off the hook. And it's not like I hated him or anything.

Then I drove to goddamn Sterling and had the above mentioned fun.

Today, Sunday, I received this message from Kyle:

Oh, Jamy,

This is not the case at all. I've just been overwhelmed between work and this online "dating" thing. I'm sorry I haven't called.

I am most definitely interested in meeting you. I apologize if I've been rude, and if you don't want to meet me, I understand.

But if you still have interest, please write back.

Well, I wasn't quite sure what to make of that, and I told him so:

Hrm. I don't quite know what to make of this situation. I thought we had a plan, though not a time and a place, for Saturday. When I didn't hear from you on the where and when, I gave up.

I'm still open to meeting, but the ball is in your court.

And he responded:

We didn't have a plan, did we? I remember I got an e-mail from you at some point saying you might have some free time yesterday to squeeze in a cup of coffee or something, but you were otherwise booked, right?

God, I hope I'm not just confused. If I told you I'd do something and didn't call, I'm even more apologetic. Please tell me I didn't do that.

Ack!

And I answered:

Well, you asked me when I was free on Saturday. I told you when I was free. I didn't give you a specific time and place--I thought you would tell me what was convenient for you. That was on Wednesday and I thought we were set to do something on Saturday, though specifically what hadn't been determined.

It sounds like a simple misunderstanding.

That said, you're still going to have to initiate the next plan because I'm feeling a little gun shy.

I'm still waiting for the next installment of "will he or won't he?".

I don't have much hopes for anything working out with this guy. I doubt we'll ever meet. It's just been too hard. Still, it's nice to think he wasn't blowing me off (um, though, he kinda is). And I can understand getting overwhelmed when you are meeting a lot of people online. But there are better and worse ways to handle it, and this is probably one of the worse.

Two final observations about Kyle:

1. I thank him for providing mildly entertaining blog material.
2. He better not become my boyfriend, because this would be mighty embarrassing if he ever read it.

Grateful for: the chance to be clear.
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Awesome

Click on the title to see me in Chinese.

Books or clothing?

I asked myself the other day, "what is more important to you, books or clothing?"

My answer was "books." My next thought was, "that's silly.' I wear clothing every day. (I also either carry a book or a magazine with me everywhere I go.) We are constantly judged (overtly or not) on the physical impression we make and clothing is a big part of that. Clothing is non-trivial. I'm not a clothes horse, but I do care about my clothing. I treat it well, especially my legion of sweaters. I'm particularly attached to my many pairs of black shoes.

I started down this particular track of thought because I'm considering rearranging my apartment. Bear with me, the track is a bit circuitous.

I don't use my backroom very much. It used to be a porch and it was converted to a room. Thus, it has some odd angles and it's cold in the winter and hot in the summer. It can't be a second bedroom because the windows in the "real" bedroom open directly into the room (it used to be outdoors). It is an odd setup. There is a big closet in the back that I converted to an office, but I never go back there. The back room is mostly a utility room. There is another closet with the laundry machines stacked in it. When I use the computer I sit in the dining area or in the living room. Yet, I have this nice ergonomic set up back there, going to waste.

I also have a lovely dining area that I use infrequently for dining.

I thought, why not turn the back room into the dining room and move the office to the dining area? (Friends who've been to my place--what do you think about this?)

One problem is that I have three full bookcases in my dining area, two tall and one short. One would have to go somewhere else. There isn't room for it in the back. But there might be room in my bedroom, if I got rid of some of my clothing. But I don't want to get rid of my clothing, even the stuff I never wear.

And that's when I had the thought, "What's more important, clothing or books?"

It's not that I never get rid of books. I do. I have a box sitting around waiting to go...somewhere else. The books that I won't read again, the cheap entertainment books, I don't keep those. I keep the books that I intend to read, the ones I read and might re-read, the ones I love and want to be able to loan (possibly permanently) to friends, the books that belonged to my parents. Those books stay.

Bookstores are dangerous places that I try to avoid. Why? Once I buy a book I may own it for the rest of my life. The library is a much safer place.

Then again, I don't read as much since I started writing the blog. The open weekend hours reserved for reading are now dedicated to writing. I may even read more words per week because of all the blogs I track. I have (mostly) kept up with the book group books--but only reading one novel a month? That's not like me. I suppose it's about the rate I dropped to in grad school when I spent most of the time reading things that bored me to tears. Given my inability to focus on any of the stuff I need to read for work these days, I'm astonished I made it through grad school at all. Then again, I didn't have a blog to distract me.

Maybe I'll just move that short bookcase into the back room. Put the bike in the closet when I have guests over. And start having breakfast in the back room.

P.S. Pele pretty much convinced me that there was nothing much I could do to make the backroom more useful and that there was a good reason to keep the dining table in the dining area. Also, I don't want to hide the fabulous new red chairs in the back. I still may move one of the bookcases back there, though. We'll see.

Grateful for: books.
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I am an idiot

Nothing will snap you out of a maudlin haze faster than almost fucking up at work.

Last night, I went to the weblogger meetup. I talked to some old friends and met some new folks. I stayed later than I intended. I did not drink. I heard some HILARIOUS jokes and almost went salsa dancing.

It was a good time.

I didn't get in a cab home until 11:30pm (or was it later?). The driver took a completely unique route and scared me half to death by:

• Speeding.
• Running a red light.
• Turning right on red where not allowed.
• Turning left where no turns were allowed.
• Did I mention the speeding?

He did wait to see that I was safely inside my house before driving away, which is something.

I was home in plenty of time to get a decent night's sleep, but I didn't want to go to bed. I stayed up, fooling around on the computer, going in search of my old comic books and watching an episode of Six Feet Under (damn you Netflix).

I used to collect and read comic books and I still occasionally buy a graphic novel. I'd mentioned Watchmen to a friend and I couldn't find my copy on the bookshelf. I thought it might be in the backroom in the box of the comics I kept when I moved away from Seattle (I sold most of them). And it was. I might read it again.

What I didn't expect to find in that box was another, smaller, box full of letters.

The letters were from the late 1970's, when we lived in Knoxville, through the 1980's, after I moved to Seattle. There were several from my best friend in Knoxville, Carla, with whom I kept up a correspondence for three or four years after I moved. The topics of all of these letters? Boys. 100% boys. Oddly, in one letter she gives me her height (5ft) and weight (90 lbs--she was always skinny). I have no idea why.

There were several letters from my mom sent to me at camp. Reading those letters, I thought, if I am a good writer, it is because of Mom. She set a good example.

And, there was a love letter that I'd completely forgotten about, which I received when I was 15 from a boy who was 18. No, I did not forget the boy, but I forgot how torn up he was and how he'd poured out his heart to me in tiny, cramped handwriting. Unfortunately, I did not return his affection.

I wish I had the letters I wrote to him, to my mom, to Carla. That is the great thing about email correspondence—it's easy to keep both sides of the exchange.

I finally went to sleep and I when I got out of the house this morning, very late, I was feeling sentimental and nostalgic. Walking along, listening to a song on the music player, sadness overwhelmed me.

Then the cell phone rang. "Where are you? There is a meeting at 10am!" It was 10:10am.

"What meeting? The one with the Assistant Secretary? I thought that meeting was rescheduled."

"You're supposed to be here, aren't you? Why aren't you here?"

"I'm sorry; I was running late. I didn't know about the meeting. I'll be there as soon as I can."

So much for a comforting walk to work. I hailed the first cab I saw and was at the office by 10:20am. The meeting was postponed until 10:30—because the Assistant Secretary was running late. I am incredibly lucky.

When I got in, my boss said, again, "You're supposed to be here by 9:30!" True enough. I apologized again, but what could I do?

The meeting was fine. Stupid, but fine.

A little while later, my boss came into my office and said, "Can you go to this other meeting for me at 2pm?"

"Of course."

So. I roll into work whenever I feel like it, make life hard for my boss (he would have had to cover for me at the stupid meeting), and I am still trusted to represent him in another meeting later the same day? What is that?

The moral: nostalgic reveries only lead to trouble. Stick with the now.

Grateful for: a second chance.
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Items

I banked a few "general interest" posts last weekend, but now I don't need them. It seems whenever I write ahead, life presents me with "real time" things to write about. Today, I give you a round up of the mildly interesting things going on in my life, not necessarily presented in the order of interest.

Item #1: Furniture
Recently, I purchased some new furniture for my house (condo). In my first apartment, in Seattle, when I was 17, I had almost no furniture at all and I liked it that way. It was a studio and there was a built-in bench and table in the kitchen. I had a rug and a single futon (on the floor) in the main room and a small dresser (my childhood dresser) in the closet. The stereo rested on a shelf built over the non-functioning radiator. I think I had one bookcase. My clothing was always fuzzy from sitting the sheddy rug, but that was the main drawback of no furniture. My college-age friends did not mind sitting on the floor.

Now, I have sofas, a coffee table, bench, chair and a make-shift entertainment center in the living room. In the bedroom, I have a completely easy to dismantle platform bed with a regular mattress on top. I have a dresser and shelves of Danish modern design that I salvaged from a friend's house.

I also have three tables. One is a very nice heavy duty card table. It folds up and can live in my backroom or basement. It has four matching folding chairs.

I also have a kitchen table that I don't like much. It will have to go.

And I just bought this new table:

And four red chairs to go with it:

The red in the picture is not true-to-life. The real life color is much more palatable. The reason for the red chairs? I'm cheap. They were half the price of the non-red chairs. It turns out that red chairs are pretty cool and look just fine in my place. They are comfortable too. The new table is awesome. It's very pretty in real life and has built-in leaves (they call it "self-storing"). Perhaps not surprisingly, both the table and chairs are Danish design. The table was actually made in Denmark. I have a thing for Scandanavian design. I'm a little hung up on Marimekko too.

According to my dad, buying new furniture makes me a real grown up. No wonder I feel so old.

Item #2: Mom
My mom has been rather stressed out and depressed recently and I haven't been able to do much for her. The reason for her stress is that she bought a new condo and is selling her house. I've witnessed her handle this kind of transaction many times and I've never known her to have such a bad reaction. Usually, she just handles it. She's a good businesswoman with great instincts and she always does fine.

She did fine this time, too, because she just called to let me know that she has a buyer for the house (at over the asking price). If all goes well, she'll be moving in June. That means I'll be going to Seattle around then to help. That's what good daughters do.

I also told her about my new rowing opportunity. She was happy for me but, in classic mom style, also tried to put a damper on it. She asked, "When are you going to start?"

"Next week. This week, I'm all booked up. Next week I can make three practices."

"Well, when you are starting something like that, it's best to not do too much all at once."

"I'll go on Monday. I have plans on Tuesday, so I won't go then. Then I'll go on Wednesday and Thursday. So I'll have a break in there."

"Just don't overdo it."

Ok, Mom. Please don't worry. I need to overdo it a little. But she does have confidence in me. I told her about my previous experience with this club and getting a seat in the boat because I'd proved my consistency. She said, "That's right. You're like me. You always show up. They like that." They do. And they always notice.

Item #3: Kyle
Completely to my surprise, I received an email from Kyle yesterday. He was sweet, apologetic (but not too apologetic) and totally took my snippiness in stride.

What he hasn't done is call or suggest making plans.

I wrote back today (this time I made myself wait a day). I: 1) apologized (but not too much), 2) suggested we get together, and 3) gave him a couple of times to choose from.

I still don't think this is going anywhere, but I'm giving it a chance.

Grateful for: new opportunities.
Drop me a line.

Rowing

Not sure how much suspense you've been in since I left you hanging with the rowing story last week....

I did join the rowing club at UNC. (You don't say "crew club" because "crew" means "club." However, most peole call the sport "crew." We did too; I still do. We just never said we "rowed crew.") There was an informational meeting at the beginning of the semester and there were over 100 women there. We learned that we would practice five or six times a week. Most of the practices would be on land (running), but we would get into the boats two or three times a week. We would only have one or two early morning practices (6am--not that early by rowing standards) and only in the Spring when it was light enough. Practice would be at 4pm. We had to share equipment and a small lake with the men, so we had to alternate practice times with them--anther reason for the lack of a water practice every day.

After that first meeting, I was a bit overwhelmed. I called my mom to ask her opinion. She said, "Oh, you can't do that."

"I can't?"

"No, it's too much."

I was terribly offended. I took her words to mean that I wasn't capable of meeting the physical challenge of a five-day-a-week practice schedule. She probably meant that it was too much to take on during my first year of graduate school. Um, yeah, she was probably right about that.

Offended and defiant, I joined the team.

Once I decide to do something, it is very, very hard for me to quit.

When I decided to go to college early, my dad said, "If you don't like it, you can always go back to high school." But I knew that wouldn't be an option for me.

When I joined the rowing team, that was it, I had to see it through.

I rowed for two and a half years and quitting was one of the hardest things I ever had to do. It was the right decision, though. I quit because I had to focus on my master's thesis and I hated our new coach.

I rowed for two and a half years. I started with a class of 100 that was down to 70 by the end of the first semester. To 40 by the beginning of the second semester. We were 20 by the second year. By the fourth semester, there were ten of us. My fifth semester rowing, the beginning of my third year, I was in a boat with girls who had been novices the prior year. I can't remember how many of my group were left on the team because I didn't see them.

I lost every race I rowed while on that team. We did come in third in the last race of my second year; the last race with my group. Our boat was elated. Coming in the medals was huge for that boat.

But it wouldn't have mattered. If we'd come in dead last, it still would have been the best race I ever rowed. Our boat was completely together. Beforehand, we decided what encouraging things we would say to each other during the race. We were only allowed to say those things. So, about halfway, when I started to flag, and I heard 5 seat yell, "Sit up!" I knew it was for me. And I sat straighter and got my head in the race. When I came off the water, I was dizzy and seeing spots. I knew I'd given it everything.

And that's what rowing was about. Doing something that seemed impossible and giving it 100% and still not having anything to show for it. I learned how to find satisfaction in losing. I knew when I tried hard and I knew when I hadn't. I knew when I rowed a good race.

Now, when I'm faced with an extreme physical challenge, I know that I can do it. I know that it may be hard and painful and not much fun, but that if I really want it, I can succeed. I just don't expect to win. That's how I knew when I planned to do the four day trek to Machu Picchu two years ago, I could do it. It was hard and I was the last person in my little group each day. But did I care? No. I didn't have anything to prove. I knew I could do it and I set myself a pace that I could keep. And I did it.

All this thinking I've been doing about rowing has made me miss it. The first summer I spent in DC, I joined a rowing club. I started in an afternoon class, but I was frustrated. I was rowing with novices and there was so much fumbling around that we never just rowed. On the recommendation of my coach, I joined the competitive group for a few weeks. They had 5am practices (ugh). My first day out, the gruff, Russian coach asked who I was and why I was there. Then he stuck me on an erg (rowing machine) and told me to row 2,000 meters (a sprint). I didn't fuss, I just did it. That's the game. He said, "We may not have a seat for you." But when he came back to the dock and saw that I'd done the piece (my time was very so-so), he immediately put me in a boat. And each time I showed up, I was seated, no question. I went back to Chapel Hill at the end of the summer and I haven't rowed since. That was...seven years ago.

I found the club's webpage yesterday and they now have an afternoon club program. It's as though it were made for me--it's for experienced rowers who are not super competitive. I could handle the 5am practices, physically, but mentally, it takes a toll. The only friends you can have are other rowers who keep the same crazy schedule. It's too limiting. But this group? It's a 6:30pm practice four days a week. It's a lot, but it leaves me some room for a social life. Missing the occasional practice is ok, and I would get to row.

I'm going to be a rower again. This is huge.

Grateful for: rowing, again.

Mabye I do

Perhaps some of you were wondering what happened to Kyle. He's the guy I was corresponding with last week, who I met via an internet dating site.

He wished me a Happy Passover on Wednesday. I responded with a very short note. I didn't hear from him again last week. I thought that was odd. On Sunday evening, I wrote to him. I asked how he was feeling (remember, he's been very ill) and said I hoped to hear from him.

This afternoon he wrote and said he was just starting to feel better. And that he'd gone on a date this weekend.

Really. Well, I'll be. I'll be what? Annoyed, that's what.

This is how I responded:

Glad to hear you are feeling better.

Surprised to hear that you went on a DATE. Gee. You haven't even called me yet. What's up with that?

My life is silly busy, as usual. But I had a pretty relaxing weekend, which is not. Today, I'm getting lots of work done as I have to meet a deadline. Deadlines are good.

I care enough to respond, but not enough to play games. (The game would have been to wait until tomorrow to respond.) I don't have time to pretend that I'm not annoyed.

How's that for not caring? Yeah, I know. Still working on it.

Grateful for: no games.

Drunkity drunk drunk

Two things seem to happen when I go out with Kristin:

1. I get drunk.
2. Strange men hit on me.

Last night, I met Kristin and two other friends for a drink at a favorite and convenient (for me and Kristin) local bar. Kristin arrived first and we sat inside for a while. When the others arrived, we moved out of doors. We sat outside, enjoying the warm weather, watching people arrive at the bar and occasionally stagger out.

During that time, I drank one beer.

I biked there and figured even if I drank a little, riding home would not be a problem.

When everyone else was leaving, around midnight, Kristin and I decided to reclaim our spots at the little bar downstairs.

I started on my second beer--which I intended to be my last. I figured that I would go home when I finished it and leave Kristin to her own devices.

We chatted with the bartender, Carl, talked to each other and said hello to many of the folks who came up to the bar. When I was just about to finish my second beer, Paul (not the bartender) slipped behind the bar and pulled out another beer for me. The bartender had stepped away for minute.

Did I mention that I was drinking Bud(weiser) in a bottle? Generally, I don't drink Bud, but sometimes, it hits the spot. (Remember, I'm from Seattle, which means I'm a beer and coffee snob.) I'm not sure why I started with the Bud last night, but it was a good idea. Since it's only a 12 oz serving, I drank 12 oz less beer than I would have if I'd been drinking pints. I think I'll stick with bottles--of whatever--from now on.

Paul wasn't exactly working there that night. I believe he works at that bar and at some of the other bars on Penn SE as a manager. But he was helping out Carl, pulling in dirty glasses, hanging out with him and paying for a steady stream of Jameson's. When the Carl (the bartender) came back and saw the beer in front of me he looked surprised. "Did you steal that beer?"

"What?"

"I know you slipped back here when I wasn't looking."

"No--it was him." I nodded to Paul.

Paul said, "You'll take it and you'll like it." Ok then.

I said to Kristin, "What are you doing to me?"

Right around then, a friend of Kristin's, an Irish guy, came up to the bar and bought seven shots of Jaeger for his friends--and us. And Paul. When someone buys you a shot, you can't just say no. I mean, you could, but I didn't. Though I did curse, after the generous fellow left, about why when someone buys you shot it has to be goddamn Jaeger. (This has happened to me at this very same bar on another occasion with Kristin.)

"If someone wants to buy you a shot, the least they could do is ask you what you want to drink. Goddamn Jaeger."

A fellow standing at the bar said, "It's not just Jaeger. It's goddamn Jaeger."

He was telling Carl, "I never drink alcohol. It gets you into trouble." (Note: that business about people pouring out their hearts to bartenders? SO TRUE. I never knew because I don't do it.)

I said, "I can't get into trouble no matter how much I drink." Sad but true.

The guy at the bar continued and said something about being in love with a stripper and having a restraining order. Carl laughed at his joke and added, "It's just a piece of paper."

Later, Mr. Restraining Order came back for another soda and said to me, "Is this 100 yards?"

I didn't get it. "What?"

"Am I at least 100 yards away?"

"Um, no. You're not even..." I held up my fingers in the space between us, "...a hundred millimeters away."

He got his soda and walked to the other side of the bar, next to Kristin. "Your friend doesn't like me."

Kristin said, "Why do you say that?"

"She doesn't like my joke. She said I wasn't even 100 millimeters away from her."

"Hey," I said, leaning over Kristin, "I was making a joke too. Why doesn't anyone ever get my jokes?"

He smiled at me. Kristin stepped away. I started rubbing my neck. For the last couple of days, my neck has been killing me. The guy looked at me and asked what was wrong--pulled muscle?

"It's just sore. I don't know what's going on."

He walked over and gave me a neck rub. A really good one. I thoroughly enjoyed it. I can't even begin to tell you how uncharacteristic this is for me. I'd probably be more comfortable kissing a strange guy in a bar (actual times this occurred: once, about five years ago) than receiving a neck rub from a strange guy.

Oddly, it wasn't my first neck rub of the night. Let's back up, shall we?

Some time around the Jaeger shot (is it a surprise that things went blurry around then?), Paul put his arms around me and rubbed my shoulders. I was sitting on the bar stool and he hugged me. He whispered how wonderful I was and how every time he's seen me, he's told me so.

For the record, I've spoken to Paul one other time and he DID NOT flirt with me. I've seen him a few other times and said hello, but he didn't seem to recognize me. Needless to say, I was lost.

He said, "It's too bad you're taken."

"Taken? By whom?" Don't you love that I still use correct grammar when I'm drunk?

"You have a boyfriend. A really nice boyfriend."

"No I don't. I don't have a boyfriend." I said.

"You don't? I thought you did." I guess I must seem like the kind of person who has a boyfriend. Nice. That's the reason I'm single! Guys take one look at me and think, "No way is she available." And they don't even bother to approach. Yah, sure. That's it.

When Kristin came back (she'd stepped away again), he slid away, back to his spot at the bar. Why did all these boys make their moves in Kristin's absence? I told her, in tidbits what happened, because Paul was standing next to her for most of the night. "He thought I had a boyfriend. He must have me confused with someone else."

"Do you want him to think you have a boyfriend? I can tell him you do."

"No. Just tell the truth." I said.

"I always do."

That was kind of funny because, earlier, when the Irish guy bought us the shots he asked what my name was and I turned to Kristin and said, "What's my name?"

She said, "This is Jamy!"

Irish said, "You forgot your name?"

Heh.

Later, Paul took one more opportunity to flirt with me, telling me what a great woman I was. I was embarrassed. Paul is a good guy. Can't say I'm interested in him, though. And I certainly can't handle such an excess of compliments from a stranger.

Last call finally came and Kristin and I walked out together; she to a cab, me to my bike. I was a little fuzzy, but the ride home was pleasant and cool.

Except for a fairly significant headache today, I feel pretty good. I may even leave the house.

I believe the moral of this story is that I should go out with Kristin more often.

Grateful for: 12 oz beers.

Relax

The plan today? I thought I wanted to get a lot of writing done. I thought I wanted to get up early and catch the free opening at the Philips. Well, it turned out that I wanted to do nothing. I made a pretty bad start on it by getting up at 8:30 and finishing up some dishes. But I got into the groove by not showering immediately and settling in front of the TV with some movies and a bowl of cereal.

I was going along fine, until I got the idea that I would go out for a movie. I made it to the shower and got ready to go. I had a movie all picked out, but it required getting on the metro. I have to say that on such a pretty day, I don't want to take the train. I decided, spur of the moment, to give the Christian coffee shop another chance. It's on the way to Union Station after all...and that is where I sit right now. It's empty, non-Christian music is playing and the wifi is functional. I have a seat by the window and the sunshine is balancing out the a/c. Not a bad way to spend a lazy afternoon.

Let's see if I can get some writing done.

(I did go see Brick last night and if you like Dashiell Hammet, you should enjoy it. Keep your ears peeled, though. They are quite mumbly.)

Grateful for: relaxing days.

Passover

It would be fun to live blog Passover, but it's impossible because it's so much damn work.

This year, the food didn't come out quite as well as in years past. The haroset didn't 'pop' (I blame the not-quite-firm-enough apples), the matzo balls were misshapen (though the texture was right) and my famous annual gelatinous/custardy/almondy dessert didn't quite set (though the flavor was good).

In fact, the auxiliary dessert that Pele made was just as good as mine, if not better. And the lamb and vegetables provided by my guest/co-host were excellent.

But, it was still one of the more enjoyable Seders I've held. Even though I insisted on doing a ridiculous amount of the cooking and prep myself (started on Tuesday night, continued all through Wednesday afternoon), I was more relaxed and at ease than I've been in the past. I actually enjoyed myself for most of the night. I like to think I'm a good hostess, but I get so focused on making sure everything is going ok, that I forget to have a good time. Last night started like that, but I eased up and my guests were no small part of that.

As usually, I combined friends from at least three different parts of my life. Only Pele had met every one there before. But these folks were all a pleasure to be around AND they got along with each other exceedingly well. This group took the (self-imposed) pressure off me. They happily went along with the religious exercise of reading the Haggadah, even though the co-host was the only other Jew. I even made her sing a few times. A drawback to not having lots of Jews is that I don't get to sing, which I really enjoy. I feel silly doing more than one verse solo.

So, even though I was a complete wreck today (I swear I'm coming down with meningitis--a stiff neck is an early symptom), I'm very happy about how things went last night.

And next year, the food will be even better. Never say I don't learn from my mistakes.

Grateful for: tolerant guests.
Drop me a line.

No foolin' (around)

Remember when I mentioned that some drugstores (CVS) in DC keep their condoms (rubbers) locked up? And someone in the comments felt the need to tell me I was mistaken? Guess who was right, right, right.

Click on the title for a story in today's Washington Post that documents my observation. 22 out of 50 CVS Stores in DC keep the condoms locked up. The article states that Rite-Aid and Eckerd stores never lock up their condoms. At least one Rite-Aid I've visited keeps them behind the counter, which is almost the same thing. But, I do want to give credit to the Rite-Aid at 8th & H NE, in my neighborhood, which keeps them out in the open.

My opinion that we should reimburse drug stores for losses due to condom theft. Who is stealing condoms? Shy teenagers, too embarrassed to ask for them or be seen buying them. Shoplifting as public policy--what do you think about that?

I found the link via Michael.

Housekeeping

In which I introduce an exciting new feature, recommend some reading, follow up on some previous posts, and update you on my (non)dating life.

1. I've added a new feature over in the sidebar. You can have my most recent posts sent directly to your email account. Woo hoo! I figured this might be desirable if you don't feel like checking the site all the time. Or if you would like even more email clogging up your inbox.


2. In the spirit of easing blog reading, anyone who reads more than ten blogs regularly will benefit greatly from using bloglines (they are not paying me to say that). It allows you to subscribe to the blogs you like and notifies you when they are updated. Is this entirely a good thing? It saves you a lot of clicking, but it also means you will read many more blogs. I'm subscribed to 105 feeds. (You may see the full list of what I read here.) Of course, I'm not reading 105 blogs a day because not everyone posts every day (though some post multiple times a day). It is a handy way to keep an eye on dormant blogs that may not post for months at a time. I also read things in bloglines that I don't link to on my site.


3. Speaking of which, I recommend all movie buffs and fans of good writing check out Living the Romantic Comedy. It is written by real life screenwriter, novelist, musician and all-around interesting guy, Billy Mernit. If you are movie-obsessed like myself, you should like it. He also links to a whole community of blogging screenwriters. Who knew?


4. Remember how I got a manicure in Israel and stopped biting my nails (except for one thumb nail)? I'm holding strong on the non-nail biting. It's not that easy and that one thumb nail seems doomed to be bitten, but the others remain polished and smooth. I'm keeping them short, though, because I found even the slightly longer length nails annoying while typing. But maybe as I get used to having some nails, I'll let them grow a little more.


5. Remember the fountain pen ink in my office, left by the long retired secretary? I have decided to claim it. It's still liquid and appears to be fine.


6. I need to cut Kyle some slack. He wrote to me yesterday and he is REALLY sick. Strep throat and the flu—he's had a high fever and is on antibiotics for the strep. Poor guy. If I actually knew him, I'd be over at his place with soup and action movies. I will work on the patience thing.

Grateful for: information.

Obligatory date update

I forgot for a second that this is a "dating" blog and not a "write-whatever-old-story-I-feel-like-about-my-life" blog.

I apologize.

Here is the update on the guy I started communicating with from the online site that shall remain nameless. The guy shall have a name: Kyle.

I have yet to speak to Kyle. He did, however, send me two emails on Friday, one of which contained his "real life" email address and the admission that he hadn't worked up the nerve to call me yet. Sweet and annoying. Also, he was sick.

I wrote back at the "real" address, wished him a speedy recovery (etc.) and said that he should call me.

He emailed again on Saturday, claiming that he was too hoarse to call. I responded that I totally understood.

The content of the emails was fine. They were all short, maybe 5-10 lines, friendly and low-key. However, I did not respond to his last email (sent on Saturday) until just now (4pm on Monday). I don't know why I took so long. All this back and forth emailing, while inoffensive, is not that interesting. No, he's not boring, I like what he has to say (except for one tiny thing that I'm ignoring, but not forgetting about, for now), but I don't like this forever emailing with a complete stranger—when it would be SO EASY to meet.

I have been known to strike up rather long, on-going virtual conversations with men and women (though it's usually men) online. But that's because the other person lived far away—either overseas or several states away. If you lived within five miles of me, I would want to go ahead and meet.

So, Kyle, you really need to call me because this emailing business is a real enthusiasm-killer.

(If you want to read the whatever-story-I-feel-like-telling post, just scroll down. It's a two-for-one day!)

Grateful for: patience.

I can take it

I'm a good loser.

I'm rather battered and sore from playing Ultimate Frisbee yesterday. I mentioned a few weeks ago that I joined a rec league. It's a fun sport, but requires a lot of athleticism. I'm not in great condition and I'm not very good at the game, but I will improve.

Dad called last night and I went on and on about the game, the rules and what it was like to play. He asked, "Did you make any goals?"

"Oh no. No. I'm not very good at it. I can't throw, I can't catch and I'm slow. But I know how to move around the field and I'm open a lot. No one passes to me though, because I can't catch. But I can learn how to do both of those things, and when I do, I'll add a lot to the team."

Dad also asked, because I compared the game to soccer, "Why don't you just play soccer?"

My answer, "Because I don't have any ball handling skills and I think I'm too old learn them. But I already know how to throw a frisbee—not well, but well enough that I can improve."

He seemed to understand. Then again, Dad has never been much for team sports. He plays a lot of tennis these days, he likes to swim, and he used to ski, but I don't think he's ever done those things competitively. Nor has he played on a team.

I like to play on a team. I was in a girls softball league in the 4th grade. I tried out with my best friend, Carla. I played and she didn't. Dad used to force me to practice playing catch with him. I can still hear him say, "Keep your eye on the ball." I wasn't very good and they stuck me in right field. Very few balls are hit to right field by 4th grade girls. Still, I think that my feel for softball is as good as it is because I played at a young age. I may not hit with power, but I very rarely strike out. I can also work a count. My fielding is so-so, but I throw and catch pretty well.

When I was in the third grade, because I liked basketball, Dad nailed a hoop up on the side of our carport. I spent a lot of time out there, by myself, dribbling and shooting baskets.

In junior high, I played for two years on the girls basketball team. We only had an eight game season and each year only won one game, but I enjoyed playing. Our last season, I got good at making baskets in practice and that meant that during our games, the other girls passed the ball to me—a lot. That was a good feeling, but I wasn't able to make the shots during a game as well; but they still had faith in me, which was something.

Then, I went to college, and that ended my athletic career. I did sometimes swim, play tennis, bike, and do aerobics, but I wasn't on a team.

(Yes, yes, I skipped high school and went straight to college. Not that I would have been on a high school girls basketball team, or even tried, but I didn't even know about club sports as an undergrad.)

After I graduated, looking around for ways to be more active, I hit upon rowing. We have a history of rowing my family. My grandfather founded a rowing club in New York in the 1920's when Jews were refused admittance to the New York Rowing Association. The name of his club was the "Nonpareil Rowing Club" and they went on to trounce the NYRA regularly at regattas. Mom has the newspaper clippings and medals to prove it. (The details may not be quite right.) In fact, the legend is that Grandpa was beat out of his chance at the Summer Olympics by none other than Jack Kelly of Philadelphia, Grace Kelly's father!

When I was a kid and we lived in Knoxville, Mom bought an ocean shell and started rowing. She started a rowing club at the University. She was in her early/mid-thirties and a professor. Most of the other rowers were male grad students. They helped organize the first annual "Head of the Tennessee" regatta in Knoxville—Mom sat bow in the men's eight. Which, if you know anything about rowing, was crazy, especially since she is only 5'3". When I was a kid, I was down at the dock a lot. I sat in the eights (sans oar) a few times and I rowed Mom's shell a few times.

I was familiar with the sport, I knew the basics and I liked it. In Seattle, there is a lot of water and a lot of rowing, at every level. I was living not far from the boathouse at Green Lake and I signed up for a rowing class. I started with sculling (two oars per person), which is what I had done before, then I took a sweep rowing (one oar per person) class and I liked it even better. I rowed, one way or another, for about a year. Then I moved to North Carolina for grad school.

I wanted to continue rowing, but there were no recreational rowing programs in or around Chapel Hill. The only way to row was to join the women's club team at UNC.

And I did. And that's where I learned to lose.

More later. I have to get some work done.

Grateful for: rowing.

Iraq Volunteers Needed

I can't resist sharing this with you. We received this email today at my office (in case you don't know, I work for the federal government in DC):

Subject: Iraq Volunteers Needed

Employees interested in helping the Iraqi people to govern themselves and rebuild their economy may soon have an opportunity. The State Department is seeking motivated, permanent Federal employees from around the government to serve our nation at the U.S. Embassy in Baghdad for one-year terms.

[The Department] is planning a presentation by State Department representatives for later this month, which will provide details on positions available, benefits of serving, and what life is like today in Iraq. [The Department] will also present an Iraq Service Recognition Package that will list additional compensation benefits.

If you have an interest in learning more about this opportunity and commitment, please notify [Jane Doe], Office of Administration, by Thursday April 13, at [email], [telephone].

This is a unique opportunity to serve our country and to help shape a free, more secure and prosperous Iraq. There are few such opportunities in life to make a lasting impact and contribution to history. We encourage you to consider this exciting opportunity.

The office erupted into chatter along these lines:

"What are they thinking?"

"Are they nuts?"

"Why would they want people from our department to go to Iraq?"

"Is this an alternative to RIFing?" (RIF=Reduction in Force.)

"That would be one way to get rid of our department." (Republicans hate us.)

My office buddy, TR, and I, and I had a somewhat longer discussion. I said, "So, are you going?"

"I already signed up." TR said. He continued, "They need people like us there to help do administrative jobs."

"I suppose we could help with contract management. That's our only transferable skill. But what would we be doing running the government of Iraq?"

Long pause.

"Well, we're putting a lot of money into the country. You could do some good there."

I said, "Sure. I'll get there and say, 'Ok everyone, start packing, we're going home.'"

Grateful for: the government.

Ethical question

Let's say that there was a secretary in your office who retired over a year ago. Some of the things she left at her desk are still hanging around, though most of the useful stuff was scavenged long ago. One of the remaining items is a jar of ink for a particular style of fountain pen. (The secretary in question was a fountain pen fanatic.) You happen to own the same kind of fountain pen. You are not in touch with former secretary, though, with some effort, you could figure out how to contact her.

Is it ok to take the ink home?

Perhaps you don't care about that and want to know if I've heard from "that guy." The answer to that is no.

Luckily, I just don't care.

UPDATE: I just got an email from "that guy." No phone call yet.

Grateful for: Friday.

Pierre

There is something I haven't told you.

I have an active profile on an internet dating site. (Pele will say, "I have to read your blog to find out what is going on in your life!")

Did I say I would never do that again? I think not because I'm careful to "never say never." I haven't paid a cent to this site and I probably won't. I signed up on a whim a couple of months ago. I was not deluged with responses, maybe because this site makes it hard to contact people without paying something.

And you know what? I just didn't care. I wasn't checking in every day, obsessively monitoring who was viewing me and who had "winked" at me. I did get a few emails at first, and I responded, but the conversations weren't interesting or the guy lived too far away for me to bother. Mostly I ignored the whole thing.

Every once in a while I'd get a notice that the site had found new matches for me. I might check on those matches or I might delete the email. If someone looked promising, I might send a (free) wink. Some of guys responded to my winks with an email. If any of those guys I winked at had ever winked back (which is free), I would have spent the money to send an email, but no one did.

And I didn't care. I wasn't sad or disappointed or relieved. I just didn't care.

I also got a couple of emails in February to which I didn't respond. They weren't creepy but there was nothing there that interested me. I broke my rule of giving a polite "thanks, but no thanks" to emails. I read them once or twice and let them be.

I just didn't care.

When I got back from my trip a week ago, I had an email from the site, and I logged in. It turned out that in March, three guys had winked at me. The site hadn't bothered to let me know, and I hadn't logged in for weeks so I hadn't noticed. One of the winks looked interesting. The guy's profile made me laugh. His picture was…appealing (though not informative enough). He sent the wink maybe five days before I saw it. I winked back.

When the guy returned my wink with an email, I actually had a couple butterflies.

His email, like his profile, was funny, modest and indicated intelligence. He also said I was cute. A long time ago I wrote, "I will probably marry the next guy who gets my jokes and who thinks I'm hot." This guy thinks I'm cute and he makes me laugh. The email exchange we're having is very good. Interesting, low key, funny. I sent him my number. He said he'll call me, but that didn't stop him from also writing a real email response. And he didn't try and pass the buck by offering up his number. Gotta like that.

Yet, if nothing comes of it, I don't think there will be much of an ego blow or disappointment or sadness--because I just don't care.

This not caring business is good stuff.

Before you jump all over me, let me tell you what I mean. I haven't stopped caring or trying or anything. What I've stopped doing is pushing, expecting and waiting. I'm taking care of myself, having a good time with my friends and making opportunities to meet new people. Beyond that, I give up. There's nothing more I can do. I know what I want. I'm not too idealistic, nor have I given up hope. I'm very hopeful. I always have been. No matter how hard I try to be jaded and cynical, I can't make that fly. Sure, it feels nice to be interested in someone—but I can enjoy that feeling without pinning all my hopes for the future on it.

I'll just keep doing what I'm doing and try and carry this attitude into the rest of my life.

For example—the jungle my yard (front and back) is destined to become this summer because the condo mates will never lift a finger about it? I just don't care. I like jungles. I do my part: I pay the bills, balance the books (I am the treasurer), and I organized the repair of our fence with about zero help from them. If they are content to have our yard be an ugly, overgrown mess, so be it.

Obviously, I need to work on this not caring thing a little bit more.

Grateful for: caring.
Drop me a line.

P.S. If you don't know what the title references, here's a hint.

I can finish a story

I finally finished up the narrative portion of the story (click). I also added a backdated story about my visit to the Old City in Jerusalem (click).

I have a few other thoughts about Israel that don't fit so well into the narrative and I'll get them up here (and there) in the next couple of days.

I also wanted to say that the trip represented something of a packing triumph. The two pairs of shoes I brought? Perfect! I did get a pair of plastic slides to use as slippers (I showed them to Spesh and he said, "20 shekels?" He was exactly right.), but I could have lived without them. The dress for the wedding? I actually got two wears out of it; I paired it with a black jersey cardigan the second time and it was unrecognizable. I got tons of compliments on the dress. I also brought a longish-black skirt, which I wore to all those dinners I went to.

I did not use the swimsuit, sports bra or rain jacket, but I don't regret bringing those things. The pharmacy was not necessary, given how easy it was to communicate in English, but not a big deal. If I'd needed the rain jacket or the drugs, I would have been happy to have them.

I used almost everything I brought, proportionately more than I do for most trips. I think I may have actually gotten this packing light thing down.

And, I didn't gain a single ounce. Even I find that hard to believe.

Grateful for: packing skills.

Barkai

You know, writing up my Israel story is taking FOREVER. For the next-to-last installment, please click the title.

I was feeling much better today and managed a full day in the office. Not exactly the most productive day of my career, but not a complete waste either. I have most things in hand but I have a pile of reading to do. About 100 pages to read and comment on, thoroughly, by Friday. Well, that's just the vital stuff. There is actually more reading than that to do, but I can't give you a page count.

I was also consulted by my boss on a sensitive personnel matter. How...odd. I felt honored that he asked me. Unfortunately, I couldn't help him come to a decision. It's certainly a case where he would like to find the right job for this person, firing is not an option (it rarely is in the federal government, for good or ill), but in the meantime it's making more work for him. I told him I'd do whatever I could to help.

That's something I hope that I never do--become a burden on the people I work with. Even when I'm feeling lazy, I still pull my own weight. This may help me get a little more motivated, though.

Grateful for: a good boss.

Mas y mas

For more Israel travelogue, click on the title.

Thank goodness I still have Israel to write about. Life in real time is very dull. Not that I'm bored. I'm just under the weather and waiting to feel normal again so doing nothing feels pretty good. I am enjoying doing nothing.

In the spirit of getting some sun on my face and testing my stamina, this afternoon I walked to a newly opened nearby coffee shop. This particular coffee shop is only five blocks away and is owned by a church. That's right, it's a Christian coffee shop. My first reaction is "ugh" but I'm willing to give it a chance.

I buy an overpriced decaf iced latte. Fine. I pop open the computer and hook up the WiFi. There is free WiFi but it doesn't work. I'm online but I can't load webpages or check email. That's ok, I'm really here to write, not distract myself with the internet. I know I should have checked with them to find out what the deal was, but I didn't have the energy. Maybe next time.

I'm typing and sipping away and I notice music playing in the background. Christian music. That really takes the cake. I was hoping I could frequent this place. But Christian rock in the background? That's a big ugh, no two ways about it.

Maybe I'll just wear my headphones next time.

Grateful for: sun.

I deliver

Click on the title for yet another installment of the Israel story. I have more stuff in my paper journal that I should "back post" to keep the chronology straight. We'll see if I manage that.

In the meantime, laundry is done and folded, if not put away. I left the house to get some cat food and tissues. Safeway delivered my groceries this morning so I will not starve. It's been a good relaxing day and I expect to sleep well tonight.

The only bummer about this cold (other than having a cold at all) is that I'm probably going to have to skip my ultimate frisbee game tomorrow. I was really looking forward to it, but running up and down a field for a couple of hours is probably not in the game plan. I'm just not going to have the stamina for it.

Back to writing and watching tv--one of life's best combinations.

Thank you

I need to say thank you to a few people.

First, thank you to the lovely Os who took care of Tabitha the cat while I was gone. They welcomed her to their house and their cat was even reasonably accepting of Tabitha. Ms. O even sent me a couple of email updates while I was gone letting me know how Tabby was getting along. Just fine, as it turned out.

And if that weren't enough, Ms. O actually drove Tabitha home on Wednesday--and brought me a couple of cans of food for her since the supply I'd provided had run out. Wow. Talk about above and beyond. I thank you. Tabitha thanks you.

Second, thanks to Pele who brought me Chinese food last night. I was home yesterday and didn't take a step outside the house. I IM'd Pele that I wanted Chinese food. She responded that she had her lunch in the fridge (their office had gone out for lunch) and it was beef with broccoli--and she would bring it over after work. And she did--along with ginger ale (at my request) and orange juice (on her initiative). She even gave me the pudding from her lunch. She said, "I knew you wouldn't turn down chocolate." Thank you, Pele, for taking care of me while I am sick.



Third, thanks for all the "feel better" comments. You all are so sweet! I am still sick, but it's just a head cold. I don't even have a fever. It's just congestion, runny nose and some aches and pains. No, I don't love it, but I I'll be fine in a couple of days.

I am looking forward to doing almost nothing this weekend, though, and finishing up the Israel story. Look for a link to another installment later today. The laundry is underway as I write this.

Last, I'm sort of liking my jetlag. Crazy, no? It is getting me to bed by 10 or 11pm and up before 7am. That is a better schedule for me than what I've been following for the last year or so. I want to stay in this rhythm. Except--daylight savings time starts tomorrow. Well, at least I'll be up by 8am. That's something.

Grateful for: good friends.