Zeke and I have an hour long phone chat (Tuesday), future plans are discussed but no concrete plans. I hear ya, K., he's married, but maybe he's just busy and has a job where he travels a lot? Maybe? Per chance?
email from Flossie (Tuesday), movie date invite is mentioned
younger man from dating site lft vm msg - I must stop dates before leaving PDX...on the other hand, nice to hear from a former NYer, we share the same area code. Go 917!
continue email flirtation with LA suitor (a mystery)
no word from X (living with gf)
1 brief but lovely phone talk with K. in Chicago
2 xs Mother rushes me off the phone mid-week, she's heard enough about dating & moving and moving and dating and moving, moving, moving, dating!
A 2nd visit to Departures scheduled for Saturday
1 lunch with gay boyfriend from high school and his bf here from DC today at Lovejoy Bakers
2 phone conversations with car shippers
3 visits to the pet store for boxes
2 freddy visits this week, 1 TJ's
1 bottle oh Lemmelsohn's pinot almost polished off (thank you, B. & Y.) and really thank you, R.
1 overnight guest from Bremerton (M., fun!), 1 visit to Sapphire
4 middle of the night visits to the yard because A. had the runs (not fun)
Enough. The send-offs continue. House/garage sale but I have no garage on Saturday, replete with bagels and coffee. I'm feeling the love.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Meow
Recent conversation with my dad:
Dad: This couple we know keeps wanting to fix you up with their son. He's 49. Never married. Lives on Park Avenue. House in the Hamptons.
Me: 49? Never married? He's gay. And he's too old for me.
Dad: That's what I said. Hey? Why don't you get yourself one of those nice 30 year old medical residents? Be one of those cougars. You could be a nice cougar!
Me: I'm too young to be a cougar. I'm 35.
Need I explain more?
Dad: This couple we know keeps wanting to fix you up with their son. He's 49. Never married. Lives on Park Avenue. House in the Hamptons.
Me: 49? Never married? He's gay. And he's too old for me.
Dad: That's what I said. Hey? Why don't you get yourself one of those nice 30 year old medical residents? Be one of those cougars. You could be a nice cougar!
Me: I'm too young to be a cougar. I'm 35.
Need I explain more?
Monday, August 9, 2010
I Never Said That
At a party for S., who is moving to Dublin with her BF for 4-5 months and who I will miss like an appendage, a woman introduced her boyfriend in this way: "He's a douchbag accountant."
And I thought I was mean?
Now, back to me. Me! Me! Me!
Received a text from Zeke while at the gym today, asking how my weekend was. This only proves my point, which is both gratifying and infuriating: the minute you stop obsessing about a person, they contact you. It defies the rules of science. It just is. It's like when I was having boy trouble years ago in NYC and my old therapist suggested I light a candle, in an effort to change the energy. LIGHT A CANDLE? That's the best she could do? I wanted to toss my arms around her and strangle her, squeeze the life from her right there. But what did I do? I went home and lit a candle. And you know what? Nothing happened.
My point? I don't have one. Except, I hope Zeke is not a Married Freak. I hope he is nice and normal-ish and can supply some well needed romance and fun in my last few weeks here. And I also hope he doesn't take note of the boxes of books and clothes in my house.
And should we skip off into the sunset, I never said that part about him being married maybe or any of the earlier entries.
Squeak!
And I thought I was mean?
Now, back to me. Me! Me! Me!
Received a text from Zeke while at the gym today, asking how my weekend was. This only proves my point, which is both gratifying and infuriating: the minute you stop obsessing about a person, they contact you. It defies the rules of science. It just is. It's like when I was having boy trouble years ago in NYC and my old therapist suggested I light a candle, in an effort to change the energy. LIGHT A CANDLE? That's the best she could do? I wanted to toss my arms around her and strangle her, squeeze the life from her right there. But what did I do? I went home and lit a candle. And you know what? Nothing happened.
My point? I don't have one. Except, I hope Zeke is not a Married Freak. I hope he is nice and normal-ish and can supply some well needed romance and fun in my last few weeks here. And I also hope he doesn't take note of the boxes of books and clothes in my house.
And should we skip off into the sunset, I never said that part about him being married maybe or any of the earlier entries.
Squeak!
AttentionDeficitDatingDisorder
Dates Disappear
Is it me? Or is my enthusiasm short lived? After a second date with Flossie where we split the bill, he didn’t walk me to my car in the dark after a scary movie (Girl with the Dragon Tatoo), and I had trouble understanding his words because he mumbles and has a thick accent – it was so thick I thought he was hard of hearing, but no. I’m thinking he gets no third date. Not that he’s called. Not that he’s texted. Not that he’s asked.
On Saturday morning over brunch on the terrace of Manzana in Lake Oswego with two former friends and colleagues, I described my dilemma. One friend, who I will really miss, ever insightful, M., asked me an outlandish question: well, what are you looking for? You are moving.
True dat. And while this question may sound obvious and even fair, it struck me as crazy and poignant. What am I looking for? Am I supposed to know? M. and I decided that there could be two categories and there are not often transferable: romance/excitement and marriage/partnership. But wasn't one supposed to lead to the other? I argued this point with her, while understanding the rub. Often the men who are exciting are egocentric, jerks, idiots, louses, or dumb and then there are the socially inept ones who make me feel sad, and somewhere out there are some gems in the rough, some men who are just lovely, perhaps not urban legend after all, those overlooked fellows.
Still, M. may be as right as the sky is blue, but in my heart the idea of settling doesn’t thrill me. What are those women’s lives like? The ones who marry for security, who don’t feel the juju? Are those the women I see with streaks of gray in their hair, baby slings smooshing their breasts, waiting in line at Albina Press? Milk stains on their tunic? They have the guy and the kid but they don't look very happy. Mostly, they look tired.
Perhaps. But I still can’t concede that settling leads to anything but boredom, sex on Sunday mornings only, and long games of Scrabble. Wait a minute: it’s not sounding half bad now that I write it. But I will always long for sharp conversation, verbal sparring, a dry wit. And see, look how far it has gotten me.
Later that same day, my friend, D. invited me to a Yelp event at Departures, on the rooftop of The Nines Hotel. Free wine, cocktails and free food, fried chicken on sticks, beef onion skewers, watermelon, cherry, basil thingies. The theme was nautical. In the elevator I immediately befriended a Gaysian (I love this word, K.) and up on the roof D. and I chatted mostly with each other.
And of course another day goes by that I don’t hear from Zeke (consider re-naming him Freak out of sheer disappointment/rage), the too smart, too cute, possibly married man from Pendleton who must be curling himself into a blankey as I write this. While at Lovejoy Bakers Sunday morning A. and I googled him on her Blackberry and I nearly lost my vision looking at the screen but was grateful to find out not too much information about him. However, I am up front with myself about this: I may not be the best judge of character. And in my defense, it takes time to peel away the layers of getting to know someone. I can be too trusting. I don’t go out on dates and try to search out the lies. And yet, three separate women suggested Zeke may be married. I put that in the pathetic category, by the way. If you’re going to have an affair, stumble into a bar like a normal person, don’t put all your junk on display on-line. Advertising on-line for an affair? You look like a tard.
A short anecdote:
Guy looks at me on a dating site and his photo is familiar, says he lives in Brooklyn. I write to him, we figure out he friended me on myspace a million years ago. I recall that he lives in Kansas so I ask him when he moved. Oh, he writes, I haven’t moved. I still live in Kansas, but I travel to Brooklyn about once a month or so and by the way, my profile says I’m 38 not 44. When I told my mother this story, I tried to be rational, hey, what’s the difference, 38? 44?
Her response? 6 years.
Is it me? Or is my enthusiasm short lived? After a second date with Flossie where we split the bill, he didn’t walk me to my car in the dark after a scary movie (Girl with the Dragon Tatoo), and I had trouble understanding his words because he mumbles and has a thick accent – it was so thick I thought he was hard of hearing, but no. I’m thinking he gets no third date. Not that he’s called. Not that he’s texted. Not that he’s asked.
On Saturday morning over brunch on the terrace of Manzana in Lake Oswego with two former friends and colleagues, I described my dilemma. One friend, who I will really miss, ever insightful, M., asked me an outlandish question: well, what are you looking for? You are moving.
True dat. And while this question may sound obvious and even fair, it struck me as crazy and poignant. What am I looking for? Am I supposed to know? M. and I decided that there could be two categories and there are not often transferable: romance/excitement and marriage/partnership. But wasn't one supposed to lead to the other? I argued this point with her, while understanding the rub. Often the men who are exciting are egocentric, jerks, idiots, louses, or dumb and then there are the socially inept ones who make me feel sad, and somewhere out there are some gems in the rough, some men who are just lovely, perhaps not urban legend after all, those overlooked fellows.
Still, M. may be as right as the sky is blue, but in my heart the idea of settling doesn’t thrill me. What are those women’s lives like? The ones who marry for security, who don’t feel the juju? Are those the women I see with streaks of gray in their hair, baby slings smooshing their breasts, waiting in line at Albina Press? Milk stains on their tunic? They have the guy and the kid but they don't look very happy. Mostly, they look tired.
Perhaps. But I still can’t concede that settling leads to anything but boredom, sex on Sunday mornings only, and long games of Scrabble. Wait a minute: it’s not sounding half bad now that I write it. But I will always long for sharp conversation, verbal sparring, a dry wit. And see, look how far it has gotten me.
Later that same day, my friend, D. invited me to a Yelp event at Departures, on the rooftop of The Nines Hotel. Free wine, cocktails and free food, fried chicken on sticks, beef onion skewers, watermelon, cherry, basil thingies. The theme was nautical. In the elevator I immediately befriended a Gaysian (I love this word, K.) and up on the roof D. and I chatted mostly with each other.
And of course another day goes by that I don’t hear from Zeke (consider re-naming him Freak out of sheer disappointment/rage), the too smart, too cute, possibly married man from Pendleton who must be curling himself into a blankey as I write this. While at Lovejoy Bakers Sunday morning A. and I googled him on her Blackberry and I nearly lost my vision looking at the screen but was grateful to find out not too much information about him. However, I am up front with myself about this: I may not be the best judge of character. And in my defense, it takes time to peel away the layers of getting to know someone. I can be too trusting. I don’t go out on dates and try to search out the lies. And yet, three separate women suggested Zeke may be married. I put that in the pathetic category, by the way. If you’re going to have an affair, stumble into a bar like a normal person, don’t put all your junk on display on-line. Advertising on-line for an affair? You look like a tard.
A short anecdote:
Guy looks at me on a dating site and his photo is familiar, says he lives in Brooklyn. I write to him, we figure out he friended me on myspace a million years ago. I recall that he lives in Kansas so I ask him when he moved. Oh, he writes, I haven’t moved. I still live in Kansas, but I travel to Brooklyn about once a month or so and by the way, my profile says I’m 38 not 44. When I told my mother this story, I tried to be rational, hey, what’s the difference, 38? 44?
Her response? 6 years.
Potentials
Dates Abound: Zeke & Flossie
“If there’s still lead in the pencil, you want someone to write to.”
K.’s grandfather, 89 yrs old, who dated the ladies through his 80s
Recently I was feted by a handful of friends at Tiga. And while the next morning it felt like a tiny hammer was lodged in my head, smacking over and over again (thank you cheap margaritas) we had a lovely night.
K.’s grandfather recently passed and I was touched by the quote she shared. It resonates the need to connect. In a vast sea of endless crap (what is life if not suffering, pain, disappointment, and loss, then death?) we cling to the notion of romance. That we will meet someone who will complete us, save us, our better half, our dark shadow, our forgotten traits. That this person will enhance, enrich, and profoundly change our lives. We may spawn with this person. We will grow and grow up with them. They will teach us things. Although I admit in the last few years I’ve whittled this list to someone who is funny and cute, has a pulse and a heartbeat.
But seriously, how often do we consider what we will bring to them? What we bring to the table? What we offer as human beings?
Aside from the petty stuff, like real estate and debt, which aren’t really petty since finances quite often have the power to damage and break relationships, what do we bring to this whole dating/relationship thing?
I found myself asking this question while on a date with, shall we say, with Zeke? Zeke and I exchanged fun, witty, flirty, sharp emails. But as we all know, this doesn’t often translate into “real time” chemistry. He appears well adjusted, he is employed, attractive, and smart. In fact, he is well employed, doing interesting work with much import and we ran into a colleague so he’s not bullshit. He is not a bit cute, but stand out in a crowd hot with penetrating steel blue eyes and a rugged chin. He is not skimming the Style Section of the New York Times and catching Kathie Lee and Hoda at the gym (Who would do that?) and considering himself well read. He is terribly bright, I mean terrifically bright, I mean scary-shocking, name people on the Senate fucking smart. Jerk!
Sidenote: When that big tsnumani tragedy hit, my mom called me and said softly, “Now I know you don’t read the newspaper, but you did hear about the tsunami, didn’t you?”
See, I wasn’t insulted, because she may have been right. I’m not a complete idiot. I just don’t always keep abreast of the news because I find it depressing: tragedy, rape, murder, pillage, death. I hope I did not make a complete fool of myself and I will hear from Zeke again. My approach in these situations is to feign listening skills. The less said the better.
We had a five hour date, does that not count? Of course at one point, during a discussion of when and when not to use the middle finger, I asked him why not and he said it was not polite. So, Zeke may be too attractive, too smart, too well employed, plus too polite.
But I’m like a going out of business sale, I’m leaving the state in three weeks – though he has yet to receive the memo. Enough long gazes across a candlelit table! Enough talk of politics! I found myself thinking, okay enough already: it’s clear, you’re intelligent, handsome, wonderful, I really like you, you’re all that and a bag of chips, awesome blossom, Woot woot, thumbs up, let’s just do it. Let’s get past these pleasantries. I’m in a drought.
But, I know my ladylike role and I will continue to wear dresses and hang back. Plus, I’ve got a date with Flossie this Friday night. It rhymes with a country he’s from (slang) and I recently bought this treat for my dog. Flossie and I have had one date and one run-in so far. He looks like a young Michael Caine and I like him. Immediately. He doesn’t make my leg tremble like Zeke, but I’m into it. He’s six years older, employed, also smart and cute and funny.
Where were these men six months ago?
Though we met on a dating site, we first met via running into each other at the dog park. Our dogs happen to both be white with rough fur, terriers, sweet and have similar names. An odd sensation to walk towards someone and feel like a mirror is coming at you. We went to Sapphire for our first date, again two drinks, again a hangover. It was a fun time, and I believe a movie is in our near future for tonight even.
More soon…stay tuned.
And thank you, K.’s grandfather, for lifting my spirits. I can’t help but think of an old teacher who would ask the class: does everyone have a writing implement?
“If there’s still lead in the pencil, you want someone to write to.”
K.’s grandfather, 89 yrs old, who dated the ladies through his 80s
Recently I was feted by a handful of friends at Tiga. And while the next morning it felt like a tiny hammer was lodged in my head, smacking over and over again (thank you cheap margaritas) we had a lovely night.
K.’s grandfather recently passed and I was touched by the quote she shared. It resonates the need to connect. In a vast sea of endless crap (what is life if not suffering, pain, disappointment, and loss, then death?) we cling to the notion of romance. That we will meet someone who will complete us, save us, our better half, our dark shadow, our forgotten traits. That this person will enhance, enrich, and profoundly change our lives. We may spawn with this person. We will grow and grow up with them. They will teach us things. Although I admit in the last few years I’ve whittled this list to someone who is funny and cute, has a pulse and a heartbeat.
But seriously, how often do we consider what we will bring to them? What we bring to the table? What we offer as human beings?
Aside from the petty stuff, like real estate and debt, which aren’t really petty since finances quite often have the power to damage and break relationships, what do we bring to this whole dating/relationship thing?
I found myself asking this question while on a date with, shall we say, with Zeke? Zeke and I exchanged fun, witty, flirty, sharp emails. But as we all know, this doesn’t often translate into “real time” chemistry. He appears well adjusted, he is employed, attractive, and smart. In fact, he is well employed, doing interesting work with much import and we ran into a colleague so he’s not bullshit. He is not a bit cute, but stand out in a crowd hot with penetrating steel blue eyes and a rugged chin. He is not skimming the Style Section of the New York Times and catching Kathie Lee and Hoda at the gym (Who would do that?) and considering himself well read. He is terribly bright, I mean terrifically bright, I mean scary-shocking, name people on the Senate fucking smart. Jerk!
Sidenote: When that big tsnumani tragedy hit, my mom called me and said softly, “Now I know you don’t read the newspaper, but you did hear about the tsunami, didn’t you?”
See, I wasn’t insulted, because she may have been right. I’m not a complete idiot. I just don’t always keep abreast of the news because I find it depressing: tragedy, rape, murder, pillage, death. I hope I did not make a complete fool of myself and I will hear from Zeke again. My approach in these situations is to feign listening skills. The less said the better.
We had a five hour date, does that not count? Of course at one point, during a discussion of when and when not to use the middle finger, I asked him why not and he said it was not polite. So, Zeke may be too attractive, too smart, too well employed, plus too polite.
But I’m like a going out of business sale, I’m leaving the state in three weeks – though he has yet to receive the memo. Enough long gazes across a candlelit table! Enough talk of politics! I found myself thinking, okay enough already: it’s clear, you’re intelligent, handsome, wonderful, I really like you, you’re all that and a bag of chips, awesome blossom, Woot woot, thumbs up, let’s just do it. Let’s get past these pleasantries. I’m in a drought.
But, I know my ladylike role and I will continue to wear dresses and hang back. Plus, I’ve got a date with Flossie this Friday night. It rhymes with a country he’s from (slang) and I recently bought this treat for my dog. Flossie and I have had one date and one run-in so far. He looks like a young Michael Caine and I like him. Immediately. He doesn’t make my leg tremble like Zeke, but I’m into it. He’s six years older, employed, also smart and cute and funny.
Where were these men six months ago?
Though we met on a dating site, we first met via running into each other at the dog park. Our dogs happen to both be white with rough fur, terriers, sweet and have similar names. An odd sensation to walk towards someone and feel like a mirror is coming at you. We went to Sapphire for our first date, again two drinks, again a hangover. It was a fun time, and I believe a movie is in our near future for tonight even.
More soon…stay tuned.
And thank you, K.’s grandfather, for lifting my spirits. I can’t help but think of an old teacher who would ask the class: does everyone have a writing implement?
Sunday, August 8, 2010
ALIVE
After 2 years of "sharing" my wonderful neighbors internet, I've been cut off. The nerve! Just when there is so much to blog about. I've used the library's internet stations, rubbed shoulders with local homeless,scented youth, and now at the very least have a 20 lb laptop at a coffeeshop. What I have to share, dear readers, is I've gone on some dates. I will need to leave you guessing for now, but will try to write tomorrow and copy some stories I wrote on my desktop. This may take hours, but they are worth it. At least I hope they are!
2 basic pieces of information. One potential suitor was in the running but failed to walk me to my car after a scary movie. Do I write this off as sheer stupidity/Aspy behavior? Give him another chance? Let's name his Flossie. He is from a foreign country. The other suitor is too attractive. My mother said that was impossible, but it's true. He also drives a pick up and was sewing machine shopping.
Like I say, I couldn't make this up if I tried.
More soon. Air kisses!
2 basic pieces of information. One potential suitor was in the running but failed to walk me to my car after a scary movie. Do I write this off as sheer stupidity/Aspy behavior? Give him another chance? Let's name his Flossie. He is from a foreign country. The other suitor is too attractive. My mother said that was impossible, but it's true. He also drives a pick up and was sewing machine shopping.
Like I say, I couldn't make this up if I tried.
More soon. Air kisses!
PLAY
A dear friend asked that I plug her friend's play. I support any girl's dating adventures on-line and of course a fellow member of the tribe? I wish I was in NYC already to go see it. But alas, maybe you can. Plus, anyone who knows me knows that I love some clever word play. Go see Jew Wish and tell me about it, people!
Jew Wish
A one-woman show written and performed by Rachel Evans
Directed by Rachel Eckerling
Part of the NY International Fringe Festival
at THE PLAYERS THEATRE (115 MacDougal Street)
Showtimes:
SAT 8/14 - 10:00 PM
SUN 8/15- 6:15 PM
MON 8/16- 10:00 PM
TUE 8/17 - 4:15 PM
FRI 8/20 - 4:45 PM
www.jewwishtheshow.com
Tickets go on sale July 23rd, at:
http://www.fringenyc.org/basic_page.php?ltr=J#JewWis
Jew Wish
A one-woman show written and performed by Rachel Evans
Directed by Rachel Eckerling
Part of the NY International Fringe Festival
at THE PLAYERS THEATRE (115 MacDougal Street)
Showtimes:
SAT 8/14 - 10:00 PM
SUN 8/15- 6:15 PM
MON 8/16- 10:00 PM
TUE 8/17 - 4:15 PM
FRI 8/20 - 4:45 PM
www.jewwishtheshow.com
Tickets go on sale July 23rd, at:
http://www.fringenyc.org/basic_page.php?ltr=J#JewWis
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