Bad Date Hostage

So I did go back online. Briefly. In some ways the diversion did disperse some of my anxious/anticipatory dating energy as I'd hoped, but in other ways, it really did just multiply it. Apparently, there is no cure for dating angst.

The response I got was interesting. I think my sassy lead photo attracted something different. And I had toned down my profile a little, not feeling like I had anything to prove this time around. I got an interesting mix of more artsy guys, rather than just athletic and outdoorsy. But also, apparently I still attract the guys who are just slightly off for some reason or another - which still seems like the majority who have ever contacted me. Lovely.

I agreed to a date with a cute Britpop obsessed hipster who was really engaging over email. As I approached the great little dive bar where we were meeting, I yet again barely survived that excruciatingly painful point just before the threshold of entering a blind date. I bribed/coerced/comforted myself saying, "if nothing else, at least you'll have something to blog about". And I remembered that the anticipation is by far the worst part of any first date (or so I thought).

But you know when you know within the first 2 minutes that this isn't it?! Not even close. Perhaps as a writer, he was better in writing. Nice enough, but speaking a different language in person. Not a kindred spirit after all.

Realizing this, I tried to convince myself that he was still fun and interesting, and I could enjoy his company for an evening. Unfortunately, it became more and more painful as struggled internally with why I couldn't just leave... all while I went on making forced pleasant conversation. (Where is the Sass when I need it?!) Somehow my drink got on his tab, so I felt like I had to ride it out until the natural end. I texted a friend when he went to the bathroom, seriously considering initiating the "call me with an emergency" extraction protocol. But no such luck.

I just didn't have the words to let him down gracefully, especially when I obviously hadn't given him much of a chance. And in the back of my mind, I'm thinking you never know what kind of weirdo he might become when provoked. Or maybe I wasn't willing to make things uncomfortable by doing anything other than what was expected of me. I figured it was much easier to email him later and tell him I'd met someone else. I mean, I'm big on integrity, but isn't that the kind thing to do?

So I was held hostage for two hours by my own niceness (or perhaps cowardice). Then, I made things even worse by agreeing to go out with him again. And somehow I wasn't fast enough to avoid his lips flying at me. Really, he thought we were having that much fun?! Ahhhh!

I did send him a very nice email a few days later. I explained at length that I was sorry for the abrupt change in course, but someone else had shown up who I felt the need to focus on (which lucky for me turned out to actually be true). He replied that he was disappointed, but appreciated my honesty. So my conscience was let off the hook. In the meantime, I swore off online dating forEVER. I'm so glad it works for some people, but I cannot handle any more of it. Dear lord.

If you do choose to bravely enter this dangerous land, here is your only chance for survival: always buy your own drink, pay cash, and have an extraction plan on speed dial!

Courtship in a Digital Age

Hypothetically speaking: If you met a guy once and we haven't seen each other or spoken since, but he has commented on several of your Facebook statuses... does that mean he likes you?

The Sass

So I got a sassy new hair cut...
And it seems to have gone to my head. Or I'm just doing really well with resolution #1 this year.

Things that the old "nice girl" filter used to catch are instead flying out of my mouth.

First, I opened my big mouth at work when I experienced more of the completely predictable yet totally surprising antics of parents (wanting me to help them bend the rules). I was outraged by the repeat offense of a particular family who never think the rules apply to them. So I shot my mouth off in a classic unprofessional manner, telling anyone who would listen, including everyone in charge. As if I am a paragon of virtue. I immediately regretted it once I calmed down a little.

Then, in the everyday tangle of normal group social dynamics, I made a poorly executed attempt to bring things out into the open after a few of us had been comparing notes about feeling left out. I waltzed over to a group of coworker-friends and said, "Just so you know, we have a bet that you four will sit together at these meetings." (i.e., nice job being exclusive). Which was overstating the level of discussion that had gone on about where they did or did not sit and who they included or not, and I felt awful as soon as the words flew out of my mouth. Of course, they were taken aback and mildly defensive.

Later, after enduring the entire meeting with my heart sliding down to my feet, I went back over, formally apologized, and tried to compliment them with a Sex and the City comparison. It seemed to help clear the air a little, but I still felt awkward.

Then, a relatively new coworker who had been slow to warm to us all was telling me a story about a frustratingly stand-offish parent. My coworker explained how she thought it was so unnecessary that this parent responded in a put-off manner when she was trying to make friendly conversation about their mutual love for their cute little dogs. And I looked straight at my coworker and just had to say, "It is so funny that you're telling that story because that was exactly my experience of you!"

I couldn't help it. It was the truth just hanging there in the air between us! Luckily, she took it relatively well.

Finally, I walked in late to a volunteer project with a few people I know well, but many I don't know at all, and practically immediately, details about my underwear come shooting out of my mouth. (For some reason, I was telling them about my friend who thinks I am still single because I don't wear a thong. To which, btw, I insist that I find lovely pieces that are both attractive and functional. Tyvm.) I think later I also announced how much money I make (or don't make)...

Breaking free? Or falling apart. We'll have to see.

Hazards of Being Single

Have you seen the episode of 30 Rock when Jack tells Liz that he thinks a single woman's biggest fear should be choking to death alone in her apartment? [Cut to Liz trying to give herself the Heimlich while choking on her dinner that night...]

I'm afraid they might have a valid point. Especially since people are used to me falling off the face of the earth for days at a time. It could be a long time before anyone comes looking for my body.

I began seriously wondering about this last week when I got a bad flu bug. I became pretty weak and out of it, and I wondered what would happen if it got much worse. I wished I had someone to keep an eye on me, and wondered what it would be like to have someone to bring me my clear liquids or go buy saltines. Whether I would actually let anyone take care of me much is another issue, but in my illness induced delirium, it felt unfair that I was being deprived of the option.

I also wonder if lack of access to built in care-taking could also prolong illness. I'm willing to bet that you recover faster if you are less taxed in caring for yourself. Although I suppose it depends on how willingly and patiently your caretaker does their job. If nothing else, if there is someone else around, isn't the return to normalcy easier? I can lay around for days beyond when I really still need to if there is no accountability.

So there you have it. My new theory on actual health hazards of being single. So much for the merits of being an independent woman. Or maybe I don't need a partner, I just need a good roommate...

But the real point is that I am kind of hoping I have found the mysterious answer to why I get sick so often and stay sick for so long. Do you think that is too big of a leap? I also happen to blame not being able to get up on time in the morning on being single, as well. (Come on, it is so much easier to get up when someone you are happy to see in the morning is getting up too.)

But I have vowed not to blame my problems on men, or my lack there of. So, I'm going to stop there.

Eggs in One Basket

I met someone interesting. ("Facebook me" is the new "can I have your number", btw.)

Immediately the familiar old "did he like me?" and "what do I do now?!" neurosis set in. And I'm really tired of putting myself through all that. So my thought is, #1, chill out and try to enjoy the ride, lady. (Ha. Good luck with that.) And #2, why not disperse anxious energy by focusing on more than one person at a time? Put some eggs in other baskets, so to speak, hoping that wouldn't just multiply the angst, which is entirely possible.

Long story short, since there are currently no other eggs or baskets, I thought of going back online.

I signed back into match.com to at least take a look. I started halfheartedly reading profiles. I spruced and pruned my profile from over a year ago in case I actually decide to make it public again. I considered how to proceed. But I HATE it. It is so much work for so little return.

At first glance, everyone seems to be 5'4'' or 6'6''. And/or they are either a complete jerk or trying way too hard; I don't need to see you with your shirt off ten years ago or standing between hot cleavage twins. And we all pretty much have the same profile... have a good life but looking for someone to share it with, like to go hiking/camping, listen to music, eat sushi, travel, or just read/cuddle by the fire ("cuddle by the fire" is the new "long walks on the beach").

Why am I so cynical? I think that when I was online before, I was usually going through some sort of phase (triathlons, fly fishing, climbing, etc.) which made it exciting to look for that specific connection. But at the moment, I am comfortable with my own mediocrity in all of those activities and am looking for good old chemistry. Which is impossible to measure on a flat screen.

I'm considering it, but currently resistant to say the least. I think I just want to hang out with the one I already met. We'll see.

Pushing Daisies

Sadly, ABC has canceled one of my favorite shows. Pushing Daisies was a unique, stylized, and charming show, unlike anything else I've seen on TV (except maybe the creator's other under-appreciated show, Wonderfalls).

When I first saw the ads for it, I wasn't interested. It was a weird looking show about a man who can bring the dead back to life for a minute. How would it help to bring someone back for only a minute? That's just playing with corpses. Ew.

But I happened to catch the show, and I was immediately won over. Extremely well-cast and well-written, the characters, the stories, every visual element, even the lilt of the narrator's voice fit a consistent creative vision for a product that was quirky, magical, heart-warming, and tragic, all at the same time. The colorful subtly vintage-inspired costumes (of course, I'm a sucker for that). The equally colorful just slightly cartoonish sets. The slightly ridiculous murder mysteries they solve along the way - at the circus, at the dog show, at the magic show, at a showroom for cars that run on dandelions, at a honey-based beauty product company where someone fell victim to a killer swarm of bees, and of course, the olfactory assistant who was killed when her scratch-'n-sniff book combusted.

How could we not love the former synchronized swimming aunts, Vivian and Lillian (Swoozie Kurtz), with their hit "mermaid" carnie act?! Or Olive Snook (Kristin Chenoweth), the "Pie Hole" waitress and former jockey, so worried she'll give away a secret that she goes undercover at a convent?! Or Emerson Cod, big gruff opportunistic PI, who spends his free time knitting and making pop-up mystery books?! And, of course, the bittersweet tragedy of childhood sweethearts, the once-dead bee-keeping girl named Chuck and Ned, the humble pie maker whose strange gift accidentally killed her father. A love that has precariously circumvented death, but is condemned to never be able to actually touch [sigh].

Right now, we need magical realism. We don't need more grim crime-solving shows lingering in the darkest parts of our society (much as I love them). We need to be charmed and delighted, and gently be made to feel longing and compassion.

Apparently, there are three more episodes that ABC may still air this summer. And we can relive it on the internet and DVD. But like Arrested Development before it (and My So Called Life, Sports Night, Studio 60, Veronica Mars...), it is gone before it's time. And it is entirely our loss.

Rest in peace, Pushing Daisies.

Why I Love My Job #147

Me: Quiet down back there, you crazy kids. You are getting too loud!

Good-natured middle school Ski Bus participant: Have you ever considered that you are too quiet?

Me: Well, no one has ever accused me of THAT before! Probably, you should just reel it in a little.

Kid: Yeah, you're probably right.

This, on the heels of the best ever Sound of Music Ski Bus Sing-a-long(!!). And getting paid to ski... Sometimes, I don't hate my life. :)

A Few Lingering Wild Oats

A couple of weeks ago, my phone rang at 2am on a Saturday night. Having been fast asleep, I was understandably alarmed and disoriented. Doesn't a phone call at 2am mean somebody is in the hospital?

But no. To my surprise, I saw that it was the "I insist I'm not flirting with you while I am blatantly flirting with you in strangely entertaining 7th grade manner" football coach. Who I probably hadn't heard from since this time last year, the season when our paths usually cross for coaching stuff.

Really? That guy? 2am?! I let the call go to voice mail and went back to sleep laughing. Wondering where that came from.

I texted him the next day to ask if the call was an accident or perhaps an end-of-evening attempt to procure female attention, a.k.a. good old fashioned booty call. He responded neither confirming nor denying his intentions. That led to a series of familiarly maddening flirtatious exchanges, during which he again vehemently denied any mutual attraction - even when I very astutely pointed out that if we were in first grade, he would have just pulled my hair and ran away. Hey, you called me, buddy!

So the next weekend when the phone rang late at night, I started laughing before I even saw who it was. Then I accidentally answered the phone while trying to text him to go away. Which led to a hilarious conversation. Which may have lead to him talking his way over to my house... Sorry, curiosity won out. And I was determined to prove that I was right.

And of course he made a move. HA! You don't need to hear the rest of the gory details. But rest assured that I conducted myself like a lady and sent him on his way. Eventually.

I'm still surprised I let that happen. Completely ridiculous. Fun as the banter might be, he is nowhere near what I am looking for. And it was obvious what he was looking for. But strangely enjoyable. For an evening. Chemistry experiment. Living in the moment.

A girl has the right to amuse herself in the meantime, right?!

25 Things

There's a chain-letter like activity spreading like crazy through Facebook called "25 Random Things About Me". When someone sends it to you, you write a list of 25 random facts, habits, or goals about yourself. Then you send it to 25 friends, including the person who sent it you. It's a big online "get to know you" game.

Unlike many other viral fads, most people are actually doing it. Something about the format and the popularity make it worth the effort. I think we want to share ourselves. And there is beauty in the mundane details. Every list I've read has something delightfully surprising about the person and something that makes me feel a little less alone in my "hidden" foibles and neuroses. Here's my 25:

1. My greatest fear is going crazy/losing my mind/losing touch with reality. I honestly worry about it happening to me. And then I panic that I might really make it happen by worrying about it too much...

2. I’ve kept a list of favorite kids’ names since I was 12 (even through my phase when I wasn't sure I wanted kids), but I've started using them on pets (and cars) just in case I never get to use them on kids.

3. I am at my most content on the way back down a mountain with a happy dog at my side.

4. I have always wanted to be a foster parent.

5. I don’t think I like my cats (Oliver and Violet) as much as I should. I take their rejection personally.

6. I take everything personally. Or at least I used to.

7. I hate talking on the phone; I rarely answer it and often don’t call people back (please don't take it personally!).

8. I love Facebook because I can communicate with lots of wonderful people without the pressure of having to actually talk to them. And I love blogging because I can pour my heart out without the immediate risk of judgment or rejection. Yes, I hide behind technology. But I used to just hide, so I see this as major progress.

9. I really enjoy picking my nose.

10. I’ve watched General Hospital on and off for about 15 years, at times taping it daily.

11. I love to sing Joni Mitchell’s “Both Sides Now” to my cabins/tents of kids at lights out, but I’m always terrified when I start it. Then they always love it (or at least don’t complain) which gives me faith in sharing your heart.

12. My favorite movie is easily Dirty Dancing. But one of my other favorites, the Philadelphia Story, is the one I usually claim in public.

13. I think there’s nothing in the world like someone sticking up for you.

14. I am often simultaneously confident that I know everything and convinced that I am completely wrong about everything.

15. I usually cry whenever I see someone else tear up. But I often have trouble crying when I am upset.

16. I'll drink champagne for any reason from celebration to misery.

17. My glory days seem to have been breaking summer swim league records as an 8 & under and starring in my middle school musicals. Oh, and winning Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle movie tickets in a hula-hoop contest at a St. Bridget’s dance in 6th grade - that was rad.

18. What I want to “do” with my life changes weekly, sometimes daily. Currently rotating between school counselor (again), art teacher, and interior designer. Or dream job: children's book author/illustrator.

19. I am very grateful that I love my current job so I have some time to maybe figure out what's next.

20. I wish people would ask me more questions, especially about the challenging things in my past.

21. I’ve been in love 3 times. And still love each of them.

22. I’ve never broken a bone or had a cavity (yet).

23. I’ve always wanted glasses for their fun fashion accessory potential.

24. I am afraid of the dark, and I have to sleep with a light on in the hall.

25. I am a often paralyzed by perfectionism (and typed this list in Word first).

Go ahead, make your own list... everyone is doing it!

Greener Grass Syndrome

When the sky is perpetually gray and the holidays felt like something was missing, I suddenly feel a lot less OK with being where I am in life. Really, single again? Really, still trying to figure out what to do with my life? What is wrong with me? When do I get to be a grown-up?! (In this mood, it does not help that my single thirty-two-year-old self with two cats just moved into my parent's house, whether the parents still live there, or not.)

I hear my little niece once innocently asking, "Where's your family?"

It seems like everyone I know is having babies. Or at least trying. And I am so happy for them. But I also can't help but feel like the train left without me. Not that I'm even ready for all that. But as they enter a different world, there is no way I can completely relate. I'm still trying to imagine what it is like to live with a boy.

And who knows what my life will bring?! Who knows if I'm ever meant to be a mother or even be in just one long-lasting relationship. Who knows how long I will even be around? Maybe this is as good as it gets! Carpe diem!! (A close call with a freak eyebrow plucking tweezers-in-eye incident just gave me renewed appreciation for my sight and health; bear with me.)

On my good days, I'm open to whatever life will bring. I am grateful for my unique path and am happy I still get to look forward to falling in love again. I am confident that I am doing things with my life that uniquely fit my gifts and positively contribute to the world. I am making the most of each effing opportunity for personal growth...

But sometimes, I wonder what it'd be like to be a "normal" thirty-something woman walking around Greenlake complaining about my partner leaving wet towels on the floor and having to religiously monitor my ovulation. As if replacing my issues with a set of more conventional ones might help anything. As if that woman never wonders if she made the right choices and wouldn't trade to be free for a while.

Greener grass syndrome hits again. (I know, I know. Don't compare my insides to others' outsides...)